


Gifts from a curse

by sunofthemoon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Mutual Pining, Season/Series 02, Single POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 61,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25838974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunofthemoon/pseuds/sunofthemoon
Summary: Canon-divergent season 2. No wraith, no magic hat.The curse is broken and their entire world shatters. When Regina is put on trial for crimes against the people, she's dealt a punishment no one could have ever imagined. Now saddled with the burden of responsibility, the Saviour seems intent on making it her personal mission to ensure Regina's safety. And it wouldn't be such a big deal, only there are feelings that choke Regina whenever Emma shows that she cares (which is often, and never ending, and aproblem).But Regina learns that wants and needs are often one in the same, that redemption can come in form of healing, and gifts from a curse can only be unwrapped by the people who broke it.Written for Swan Queen Supernova 2020.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan/Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard
Comments: 100
Kudos: 295
Collections: Swan Queen Supernova V: Forever Starstruck





	1. Lonely strangers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pearsonasnic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearsonasnic/gifts).



> This fic started as a ' _what if Gold wasn't a bitch and Regina was actually held accountable for her crimes?_ ' and then it ended up as a 60k love story between a Saviour and Evil Queen, and I hyperventilate whilst writing this because I missed so many issues that I had no time to write in.
> 
> _Anyways._
> 
> A big thank you to Rems who beta read the first two chapters and helped me get a proper footing into Regina's psyche. 
> 
> If it wasn't for those sprints, read throughs and "HeLp I can't Write Action!" moments I would have never made it. Thank you Ang, for listening to my rants and pushing me to write. I did it. Just like I said I would. 
> 
> And Meri, who has spoilt me with compliments and kept pushing me to write more. Also all those read throughs and pointing out aspects I needed to relook at. Thank you! 
> 
> Lastly, to my artist Nic who is SO talented. There's TWO WHOLE videos out there that everyone needs to see. _all the feels_
> 
> A few notes about the story:  
> \- it's all written in Regina's POV.  
> \- I will add warnings per chapter for convenience. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mention of death penalty. Bodily harm.

The first thing that arrives is loneliness.

It settles in the dark, hiding in the striped shadows that cage the cell in its glow. Regina is used to it, this feeling of emptiness that she brushes through her hair, hides behind a layer of makeup painted on upside down. A happy clown—for the town, for her son, for a future she uses as an escape from her past.

For all that she’s done, good and bad, this is where they put her. Locked away in a cell she designed, hidden from the people who appease themselves knowing they’ve offered her a fair trial. All of it is a load of crap. Regina knows the second she walks into Town Hall with handcuffs around her wrists, the judge, the jury, and her own son will do anything to prosecute her. And what’s worse is that they have their Saviour, the blessed child born to break her curse.

Where there is a misguided person seeking happiness, there’s always a beacon of perfection ready to shine a light on the flaws of others. A balance between virtue and depravity to uphold a standard set by hypocrites. Regina is aware that she's a little more damaged than the rest, a little greyer on the scale of morality— and doesn't that make her worth more than this?

“Is _this_ all I am to you?!”

The sound of her own voice startles her as it boomerangs around the room with a question no one is around to answer. Utterly alone, and left to fend for herself, Regina knows that if someone really wanted, if they were desperate enough, they could sneak into the sheriff’s station and slit her throat. It’s an opening anyone would be foolish to ignore. She’s never been this vulnerable since she was a girl, where neither magic nor Snow White’s orders to do no harm had cloaked her in power. Here, she is nothing.

This—all this isolation, is _humiliating_.

A roar rips from her throat; furious and defeated, the sound of a woman who has lost everything. Tomorrow, she knows she will be put to death, that her time is limited, and if she stands from the ratty cot to face the cell bars with all the anger in the world, no one can blame her.

Wrapping her fingers around the metal, Regina squeezes the bars to anchor herself. Her knuckles turn white with the force, enough that she feels the muted buzz of her magic that deserts her as quickly as everyone else she’s loved. It’s a testament to how weak she has been. “I loathe you, Snow White!” she screeches, shaking the bars until the gate rattles with her rant, sounding almost as furious as she. “You couldn’t even give me the _dignity_ of death, leaving me here like this! You cowards!”

Perhaps, it is only because no one comes to bear witness to her rage that Regina shakes the bars of the cell until her arms begin to ache. Like a caged animal fighting against their own demons, trapped in a prison of time. After all she’s worked for, all she’s done to gain power, they’ve reduced her to nothing more than a woman who will weep for her fate.

Slipping down to the floor, her forehead pressed against the metal as she sobs, Regina realises the only thing that she’ll ever miss are moments of Henry’s life that she won’t be there for. Ten years of raising him, and it will all be discarded by the boy who sees her for what she truly is: _a monster_.

:::

“The town of Storybrooke gathers for the trial of Regina Mills.” The gavel comes down twice, calling the court to order. Regina doesn’t think this is the way a trial is supposed to work, but Snow makes an effort to infuse their old ways with their new ones, portraying herself as a modern queen.

As suspected, there are handcuffs around her wrists, and the only key dangles from Emma Swan's belt. The symbolism of that is enough to make her gag, but it’s a small thing on a long list that starts and ends with Emma’s shiny golden hair. If there’s only one way to spot a Saviour, you might as well make them look like the embodiment of the sun.

“For crimes against the people of Storybrooke,” Snow booms in authority, and Regina lazily drags her gaze back to her old enemy. “How do you, Regina Mills, plead?”

Her handcuffs jangle as she presses her fingers to her temple, trying to quell the headache that pounds behind her eyes from lack of sleep. This chaotic display of justice only adds to her pain, and Regina finds that she hasn't got the energy to argue like they want her to. She sucks in a harsh breath, defeated and shamefaced as she surrenders.

Her eyes remain on Snow White as the word, “ _Guilty_ ,” grates through her clenched teeth.

Short and sweet, and no one to label her a villain when Regina owns up to her crimes. Everyone stiffens at how easy it had been, how different it is from the last time where Regina had put on a performance. But for all of Snow's bluster about righteousness, Regina knows this relieved defeat leaves them trembling. _Good_ , let them think her ghost will haunt them after this.

Pulling her shoulders back to stand tall, Regina meets the silence with a sneer. She may be dealing with a bunch of fools, but she will not let any of them remember her as a coward. She observes the hall and watches the people who have hurt her most. Gold stands with his hands over his cane, his beady eyes boring into her as she meets his gaze with unwavering strength. The sight of Belle beside him—a woman she had hid from him for years—doesn’t come as much of a shock as she would have expected it to. Let the beast have his beauty; in all of this, one villain should have a happy ending, even if it goes to the least deserving.

Regina barely gives David a glance. He’s been nothing more than Snow White’s tail, following orders and calling it love. She won’t deny his bravery, but it’s just as easy to label it foolishness. This is where Emma must get her inclination to see the good in the worst of them, to believe even those who are not cloaked by kindness nor sweet charismatic words.

Instead of inspecting Emma's expression, Regina eyes the keys attached to her belt that sway from side to side. The Saviour is nervous, a ball of energy trying too hard to stay just as still as everyone else. The only thing that keeps her rooted is Henry’s hand on her arm, holding too tightly as he meets Regina's gaze. The sight of him, wearing his striped scarf that she had knitted on a whim, and his coat that matches the one she knows hangs in her closet, makes her swallow back a wave of nostalgia. He’s still her little boy, tucked behind a man who is forced to grow up too soon. It shows in his expression, in the hardness of his eyes that spell out hatred so clearly, that Regina chokes on a sob of apology.

“Henry,” she rasps, forcing herself to smile; but he only glowers at her in response. “I'm so sorry.” Her apology tapers off into a whisper, filled with all the pain the rest of the court wants for themselves. Turning her face to the ceiling to hide her weakness, Regina closes her eyes as she gathers her courage. When she looks back at him, a child amongst adults in a court to kill his mother, Regina understands that the time for regrets have come and gone. Instead, she softens her expression, and blinks rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “I love you,” is what she tells him. “It’s all going to be okay.”

Henry shifts, his bottom lip wobbling as he leans against Emma’s side. He isn’t offered the comfort he wants. Regina sees the way Emma struggles to pat his arm, to keep him upright as he rests against her like his life depends on her support. _Friends_ , that’s what Emma and Henry are. Discipline, comfort, safety; these are the things Regina has been giving him for ten years, and the things Emma must learn to provide.

“The court will—” Snow swallows thickly, pausing her speech as she picks up the gavel. Regina's moment has been given and spent, and she has no regrets that her son was the one to claim it. Snow, however, looks grave, betrayed, and drained by Regina’s easy admission. “The court will take a moment to decide Regina’s punishment,” she says roughly, and for the second time, the gavel comes down twice.

Regina watches in amusement as Snow sits, her head hanging in sorrow as she's forced to choose between her authority and her beliefs. There's a smile on Regina's face as she's dragged outside onto the lawn with Emma and David flanking her from either side, protecting her from the people who are brave enough to stand up and shout out obscenities.

For a court, none of this is practical, or lawful, or makes any fucking sense. But here Regina is, with handcuffs around her wrists and history repeating itself with better fashion and cleaner streets. People are so predictable.

“You are not being fair.”

“Aren't I?” Regina asks in a teasing tone. But it sounds bitter, like venom spat out between her bloodied teeth.

David swallows harshly from beside her and makes to pull Emma away, but the stubborn woman shrugs his arm off. This is _our_ fight, Emma silently communicates with a glare, and Regina stands taller at that when David skulks off at the command.

“You're throwing everything away,” Emma argues in a low voice.

Regina raises an eyebrow. “As if I have a choice.” Accompanied with a sneer and a hint of defeat, anyone could dismiss it as a play from the Evil queen. But Emma finds the pain buried beneath her words, and Regina grapples for control when all she receives is a look dripping with disappointment.

Emma affords her a moment of silence, then says, “I never expected this from _you_.” And it's delivered so sharply, that it cuts through their game of pretence until all Regina can see is expectation and awe that doesn’t belong between them anymore.

Her sneer relaxes into an incredulous smile that fails to mask the pain that lines her eyes with unshed tears. She can feel her fury return, simmering around her cuffed hands that point to the keys on Emma's belt. “You haven't earned the right to expect anything from me. Not when you blindly follow your mother's orders and guard her beliefs as your own.” Personal space evades them when they fight, and Regina follows the same pattern now as she leans in too close. “And to think,” she taunts, her hands drifting to skim over Emma's belt, “it's only been a _day_.”

Caught, Regina grinds her teeth together as Emma grabs her wrist before she touches those keys. “Don't play dirty,” Emma tells her in a rasp, and Regina latches onto that weakness with all the power of her old habits.

“Oh?” she asks with a pout. “And what have you been doing using my son against me?” Because that is the dirtiest play, and Emma is just as guilty for using Henry as a crutch.

“No. You don't get to do that.” The bluntness of Emma's tone should be a warning, but all Regina can see is the darkness that their precious curse breaker harbours. “Nothing was supposed to end like this.”

“Pray tell, Miss Swan,” Regina asks, tilting her head to the side, “how was this supposed to end? Did you think I would—what? _Run_? Leave my son without fighting for him—”

“How is any of this,” Emma gestures wildly, spitting out her words with frustration, “fighting for your son?”

And it's clear as day why Emma is so angry. She never thought she'd be the one to lose in any of this, but Emma isn’t ready to be a parent, and she definitely isn’t ready to console Henry when he realises the consequences of being good. A last resort: _your son_.

“Do you not want him anymore?” Regina dares to ask. Emma widens her eyes in anger at that, and Regina takes her time to glance down at those keys again before she gives Emma the privilege of her attention. “Or are you scared, Saviour, that being a parent is harder than it looks?”

Irritated, and more than a few buttons pushed, Emma leans in even closer. Regina could reach up and kiss her if she wanted. What a shock that would be to their spectators.

Scoffing, Emma twists her lips in anger. “Why do you have to find hidden meanings in everything? Why can't I want you to be safe without any agenda?”

“Safe?” Regina asks with shock. “Oh, you poor lamb,” she drawls once she hears the earnestness in Emma's words. “Did you really think you could have _protected_ me?”

“I’m the Saviour,” Emma says stubbornly, looking far too affected by a pet name, “they’ll listen to me.”

Regina barely contains her laughter. “Oh, please,” she huffs, and doesn't linger on why it might sound like she's comforting Emma. “All they want is their idea of justice. And Saviour or not, dear, they won't let anyone get in the way of that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not gonna let you die.”

And the absence of _For_ _Henry_ is so glaring, that this is the thing that finally makes Regina break. Emma's stubbornness borders on desperation, and all she can do is laugh at it. For a woman so silent in court, Emma has no right to speak here, to give Regina hope and then wipe it away like an unwanted stain. So, she clutches her stomach with her bound hands and mocks the sentiment by treating it like a joke.

“You think I am a fool!” Regina exclaims, and Emma flinches from her like she's finally seen the Evil Queen. “Why don't you kill me yourself?” A suggestion of a madwoman, one that curves Emma's fear into fury, makes her stand straighter as Regina hunches. “Go on, claim your destiny and be done with it. There is no time for mind games, not unless you want your dues before the council is out with their punishment.” Because it will be death, and Regina’s only concern is by whose hands it’s taken by.

She's still laughing when Emma pushes her roughly, hiding behind a wall of humour as her heel breaks for her. Regina feels her balance slipping, and her laughter turns into a gasp when Emma grabs a fistful of her shirt to keep her upright.

“Don't you ever say anything like that to me again.” Roughly shaken by her shirt, Emma makes her point with a tone so menacing, that Regina can't help but swallow her pride, to tuck it away beside the Queen who she hides with her other masks. Emma lowers her voice to a whisper, and says, “I am not here to kill you. I want to _help_ you.”

She's so close. So achingly close that their foreheads almost lean against each other, that every time they breathe the space between them becomes smaller.

“The only thing you can do,” Regina murmurs under her breath, “is help me die.”

Her shirt is released with such suddenness, that Regina feels the loss of warmth as soon as Emma steps back. Gently smoothing out the creases like a lover would do, Emma shakes her head and says, “You're so fucking stubborn.” It's said so softly, and with an immeasurable amount of fondness. Something sacred that Regina holds to her chest and will deny she ever found it heart-breaking.

From the corner of her eye, a figure walking out of town hall catches her gaze. Without thought, Regina drops Emma's words with a shattering reality. She says, “You're not the one I'm fighting for,” and wounds Emma where she's most vulnerable.

Behind idealistic sentiments and things that can never come to pass, a boy walks with his head down. Henry counts each step he takes, being careful not to land on any cracks. There is nothing left to lose, nothing but the memory she'll leave for her son who deserves a better goodbye.

“Henry!” she calls out, pushing Emma aside. “Henry!”

His shoulders inch up to his ears, shielding him from the calls of his mother that he resists. He flinches whenever Regina says his name, holding himself tighter each time, until finally, he looks up sharply at her, his eyes alarmingly red. “No!” he yells, sounding shrill and angrier than Regina has ever been.

The ears of every idle soul perk up at the outburst, waiting for the son of the Evil Queen to do the same damage as his mother, to deliver a blow that will put their prisoner to rest faster than a blade will. But Henry only stands there, his chest rising and falling with each harsh breath. A boy with nothing to hide behind. Regina sees the child who laughed when he burped and cried when he fell. Her _son_.

“I know,” she whispers, holding out her cuffed hands to him; an offer, one last hug that none of them will speak of, that won’t mean anything more than they want it to. There are still things Henry wants to say, to accuse her of with every intention of hurting her like she has hurt him, and Regina stands still as she waits for him to attack.

With the power Regina affords him, it surprises her when Henry doesn’t take it. Instead, he chokes on his own tears as he runs across the lawn and barrels into her, nearly toppling her over. A hand on her back keeps her steady enough to return the embrace, her arms looping over Henry’s head to cradle him under her chin where she hides her son from the horrors of the world.

“It will be fine, you’ll see.”

“N-no. You lied, you d-don’t love me,” Henry cries, hiccupping on his words like he believes what he says.

She pulls back, looking down at Henry with shock. “The only thing I have _never_ lied about is how much I love you. I would do anything for you, Henry. Anything.” And that has been her truth from the moment she held him in her arms, her love for him filling a hole in her heart that she never knew existed until then.

He mumbles something against her chest, sniffling as he burrows himself further into her. “What was that?” Regina asks him, brushing the hair away from his face.

“Please,” he rasps out in a whisper, a plea for his mother to hear. “Please don’t let them hurt you.”

Her eyes close in defeat as she pulls him closer. “Oh, Henry,” is all she says with a sigh. This is what mothers do, Regina has come to learn. Hold them tight enough that they feel safe, and then promise things that might be impossible. “I’ll try,” she adds, and Henry calms at her words, so easily fooled.

The hand on her back retreats when Henry wipes his cheeks and nose with the sleeve of his coat, looks up at Regina like he might trust her again. Her skin cools where the hand once was, and when Regina turns around, she sees Emma standing there tight-lipped, her eyes rimmed red.

“Then fight for him,” Emma whispers into her hair, and Regina finds that she's defenceless against the challenge.

:::

Sombre is one way to put it.

The court weeps, but not for Regina—never for the villain who was heartless and vain. They cry for Snow whose eyes are red, who can’t hide her sniffles no matter how hard she tries. The poor dear is losing the one person she’s known the longest, a figure so prominent in her life that it deserves this type of reaction.

Pathetic.

“Do you…do you have anything to say, Regina?” _Before we kill you?_

Henry, Emma, and the sorrowful look Snow gives her. A part of her owes it to them to put on the act of evil, the one that must be defeated for happiness to prevail. But she looks toward her son who isn’t as grown as he would like everyone to think, and something in Regina cracks at the sight of him.

“I admit,” she says, looking back at Snow. “I did horrible things. I murdered, tortured, kidnapped, used magic to make people do my bidding—I played God. I did these things because I was hurt by loss, and then later _groomed_ ,” she looks pointedly at Gold who shifts his gaze down to his shoes, “to use these tools to my will so I could cast this curse.”

If she’s going to burn, let him burn with her.

“It was always about this curse,” Regina continues. “I may have been its caster, but I was not its creator. Do I deserve punishment for my crimes? Absolutely. But if you’re going to punish me, then _punish_ _them_ _all_.” Her words slip into a drawl at the end, a low purr that sounds like it comes from the past.

The court erupts into a buzz, low murmurings of people who realise they might have a bigger monster to slay. Regina is only one head of many. What will they do when they realise their saviours are just as cruel as she?

Emma’s lips thin to hide a smile, and she tugs Henry closer to her to keep them both grounded. Regina wonders how many of those crimes Emma committed herself. Whether she's absolved of them now that she’s here in Storybrooke. And if she is, how is it that the rule must only apply to her?

Technically, even if they were to only persecute the crimes committed in this world, Regina would still be hanged.

“She’s right!”

Henry stands in front of the court with that damned storybook in his arms, his backpack open and spilling out coloured pencils on the floor. Two of them roll toward Regina, stopping at her shoes. She doesn’t dare bend to pick them up. David had pulled her inside the courtroom and held her steady until she got her balance with that one broken heel. It hurts to stand, but she’d never go barefoot in front of these people, to look so vulnerable.

“Look!” Henry says, flipping open the book to various pages, pointing out different things to Snow and her council who lean in to better see. “My mom isn’t the only villain here—”

“But this is Regina’s trial. She will be the first punished, and thereafter whomever else is in that book of yours.”

Henry huffs as he flips a few pages back, then points at a picture Regina can’t see. “Then maybe you should be next, King George.”

The laugh that bursts out of her is uncontrollable, but Regina doesn’t hide her mouth behind her hands like she was taught in her youth. Henry ignores her as he flips another two pages, pointing out more pictures. “And then Granny, and Red, and Prince Charming, and—and even _you_ , Grandma.”

And the entire council is silenced by a ten-year-old boy with a book in his hands and enough purity to prosecute his own mother if need be. “Yes,” Regina adds, “didn’t you kill an entire army of my guards without reason that one time? And torture, maim, and kidnap my staff? And I do believe you had attempted to assassinate me—the reigning monarch at the time.”

Snow’s face flushes, and Henry turns to look at Regina with exasperation. She’ll apologise later.

Closing the book, Henry pulls it up into his arms, his open backpack spilling more pencils on the floor. There’s a whole lot of them around Regina’s feet, encasing her in an aura of colour that a character so dark could never hope to have. Henry says, “It isn’t fair,” with a pout on his lips and a tone so familiar that Regina almost breaks her other heel when she steps back. “When we do something bad at school, they make us think about what we did, and how to make it better. Maybe we write lines or clean the yard, but no matter what we’ve done, we always get a second chance. Storybrooke is _not_ the Enchanted Forest.”

George opens his mouth to speak, but Snow stops him by raising her hand. She’s touched, and Regina doesn’t know if it’s because Henry called her Grandma, or because what he said makes sense, even if applied to someone as damaged as her.

“Henry is right,” Snow says, and the relief on her face squeezes Regina’s chest, forms a band around her ribs that tightens the longer Snow looks at her like she hung the moon. “Storybrooke is a place that should be a second chance, a place for all of us to start again on equal footing…”

The buzzing of the court loudens, drowning out Snow’s hope speech with their anger.

“She will be punished!” Snow shrills above the commotion, her palms flat against the table as she leans forward to tower over them all. Regina can see why she would have made a good queen. One different from Regina, but a powerful one, nonetheless. “Regina will atone for her crimes, just as everyone else will.”

Banishment? House arrest? Set on a ship to forever idle out at sea?

The idea of something worse than death makes Regina tense. The cuffs around her wrist bruise her skin as she wrings her hands together, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she chews on the flesh to stop herself from begging. If she gets to see Henry, even if it’s to take his hatred, maybe all this will be worth it.

“Regina, you are sentenced to a lifetime of community service. You will step down as mayor, and you will be _personally_ responsible for the happy endings of everyone in town. For all the crimes committed against the people, it is your civic duty to undo them.”

Impossible.

There are people left behind, people dead, people…

Her thoughts are drowned out by the uproar of the court, all clearly thinking the same thing. When she looks up at Snow with wide eyes and the weight of responsibility on her shoulders, the person she sees staring back at her is a queen, one with a cruel streak learnt so effortlessly from those who came before her.

“Fuck,” is the last thing Regina says as she steps backward, tripping on her broken heel and the coloured pencils that sabotage her. This time, there isn’t anyone there to stop her fall.

:::

Shadows dance over her face, striped lines that taunt her as she sits upright.

“Good, you’re awake.”

The first thing that Regina registers is pain. In her elbow, her hip, and face. Touching her fingers to her cheek, she hisses at the burst of agony that couldn’t have possibly come from the fall. She was conscious enough to take the brunt of it with her elbow and hip. Someone must’ve picked her up before the court started rioting.

Did someone _punch_ her?

“Why am I not dead?” She asks, because she could have been beaten to death so easily in that room, and no one would have been strong enough to stop it. Henry would have been Emma’s first priority, as would Snow for David. But here Regina is, back in the sheriff’s station behind bars as Emma sits across from her with a doughnut in her hand.

Regina’s stomach gives a low rumble at the sight of it.

One neatly plucked eyebrow raises at the sound, and Regina presses her hands to her stomach to stop any more embarrassing noises from getting out. “I told you,” Emma says, reaching behind her to get another, “I'm not going to let you die.”

Held out through the bars of the cell, Emma offers Regina a doughnut. It feels like more than a piece of food, one that comes with an agreement that might make Regina regret everything all over again.

She hesitates before accepting the treat, holding it in a pinched grip. “I see I'm not the only one who is so fucking stubborn.”

Emma chokes at the profanity, and Regina takes the opportunity to sink her teeth into the chocolate covered confectionery with only a momentary thought spared for the dangers of something so sweet. Besides, Regina figures that if it’s poisoned, she’ll go out knowing that all the unhappy endings are still in place

Watching her chew and then swallow, Emma stands with her mouth agape. “What if it was poisoned?”

Regina sighs at the doughnut and takes another bite. “Worth it,” she breathes, and that earns her a scoff in return.

“I’ve never met anyone so intent on dying before,” Emma says drily.

She snorts at that, then winces when her cheek hurts at the action. It causes enough concern for Emma to frown as she drags a chair to the bars, sets the box of treats on her lap where it's close enough to reach. An open invitation, an assumption that Regina would want the company despite the hollowness that threatens to consume her whole.

She exhales through her nose as she swallows the last of her food, forbidding herself from reaching over and taking one more. She’ll take as much as she needs to survive, but not enough to make Emma think that they’re friends. Emma who has earnestness in her eyes and makes promises that are too hard to keep.

“Why are you really here?” Regina asks. Because their worlds have turned on its axis and they're ordained by destiny to end each other. No matter how much Emma wants to save and protect, Regina knows exactly where she stands when it comes to The Saviour.

“You already know,” Emma accuses. Her gaze levels into frustration that borders on a plea. “You know why I’m here.”

It would be easy to take Henry's name. It's what they've always done when they couldn’t admit hard truths, when humanity and guilt are weaknesses they never speak about. But Emma omits it twice today, and Regina grits her teeth through a depreciating smile.

Exhaling, she says, “I know,” and offers nothing else, leaving their unsaid reasons hidden in the shadows they’re most comfortable in.

Emma stares at her as if awaiting a blow, her muscles coiled with tension. When Regina only glances at her with amusement, Emma sits back in her chair with a small smile. “Would you look at that,” she says to herself, and relaxes.

Walls have come down, and masks have been removed. Regina _panics_.

She can't have someone sitting here eating doughnuts from a box like this is family dinner, watching her with secret smiles, and declaring half-truths that mean too much. And maybe, Regina appreciates the company, is grateful that her loneliness has someone to latch onto. But a voice in her head questions whether she’s deserving of it—if she should trust Emma at all. So, she asks, “Don’t you have an entire town waiting to worship you?”

And the effect is immediate.

Emma throws her doughnut back into the box, angry and righteously so. “You know what the problem is?” she hisses, setting the box on the nearest desk before stepping forward to clutch onto the bars with her teeth bared in anger. “You claim to only want happiness, but when someone offers it to you, you never think you deserve it. You are a _hypocrite_.”

Regina laughs cruelly around a lump in her throat. Emma only gets angrier, her grip on the bars becoming tighter the longer she holds onto them. A ghost of a smile remains on Regina’s face when she stands to meet her equal, the glisten of old tears smeared across her bruised cheek. “Haven’t you heard? Villains don’t deserve happy endings.”

Emma shakes her head as if to rid herself of the thought. “Without villains, there are no heroes. And sometimes, if the villain is inside us, don’t you think the strongest heroes are the ones who face their own darkness? Can’t you see that for yourself—f-for anyone else?”

“Don’t you dare,” Regina growls.

Emma smirks at her like she’s won something. “Don’t what?” she asks in a whisper. “Don’t have faith in you? Don’t bother telling Henry he should—”

Reaching through the bars, Regina grabs Emma by her shirt, the fabric stretching in her grasp as she pulls Emma flush against the bars. The words are knocked out of Emma’s chest, telling of just how much Regina cares—if not for her own life, then for Henry who was unfortunate enough to be loved by her. “You will find,” she rasps, too close to Emma’s cheek, “that I am not so nice when I lose my patience. And I have very little of it left for you.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Emma breathes, slow and delicate. “I know how you play, Madame Mayor.”

They hate each other, have fought over the pettiest of things, and yet here Emma is in the grasp of her old boss, surrendering like things might’ve been different had a curse not existed.

Pulling back as if burned, Regina scoffs as she steps back. “You’re not worth the effort,” she breathes, and turns her back to her only ally in this town.

Too many lines have been crossed, wounds have been cut too deep. All that remains of Emma when Regina finds enough strength to peer over her shoulder, is a chair facing the bars and a box of pastries lying open on the desk.


	2. Miserable acquaintances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: alcohol abuse. mention of murder. mention of bodily harm.

Sleep evades her just as harshly as peace does. Regina can’t stop thinking about everything—about the curse, her son, and the Saviour that seems hellbent on taking as much space in her head as possible.

The box of pastries still lies on the desk, consumed now by ants that know a good meal when they see one. As for Regina, pride is her only company as she turns her back to face the cell bars, pretending that she’s fine with the outcome of all of this. That she’s happy to be locked up without food or a shower or bathroom breaks. They must think she deserves this, to hold herself in a ball so she doesn’t wet her pants.

If only she had magic. If only she could disappear like Emma did, walk away whenever things get too hard. This type of envy is an old one, attached to memories in a castle with a king beside her in bed.

“Hey,” Regina hears. “You awake?”

“How can anyone possibly sleep like this?”

David sighs at the retort, the sound of his boots coming closer until they stop at the bars of Regina’s cell. “Get any visitors last night?” he asks, and Regina tenses when she sees him lean over to pick at the half-eaten doughnut squashed against the box. There’s suspicion in his expression, and Regina finds that she can’t bring herself to look at him, even if she did nothing wrong.

Sitting up, Regina runs her fingers through her hair with a depreciating laugh. “Why would you even care?” she finds herself asking. Because that visit last night felt private, a secret for her to keep. Whatever her motives, Emma wants Regina to live, but everyone else has nothing to gain from Regina’s safety.

The doughnut drops back into the box as David straightens up, sticky fingers wiped on a tissue before he reaches for the keys on his belt. “This may be news to you,” he says, unlocking the cell, “but Henry cares, which means that _I_ care.”

_Ah yes_ , Regina thinks, _my_ son, _your_ son, _our_ son. It’s as if this man might be Emma’s father—oh, wait.

She’s stopped from ripping David a new one by the sound of the station door slamming open. Regina stiffens when she catches a glance of Emma coming down the hallway, remembers how callous she had been with all the things they purposefully leave unsaid. Emma catches her startled gaze and loses her balance, tripping on the edge of something as she bumps her side against the wall. David winces from beside Regina in sympathy when Emma mutters a painful, “Fuck.”

“You okay?” David asks once Emma emerges from the hallway with a tray of coffees and an overnight bag in her hand.

Emma grunts as she hands a cup to David, but otherwise remains silent. And this is the woman that Regina knows, the one who will protect _herself_ before others. This, she can deal with, can manipulate without magic and still be as cruel as she wants. But Regina forgets who she's up against when Emma steps toward her, forgets how easily she can be disarmed by a sense of familiarity that makes her feel safer than she ought to. The Saviour is a devil she knows too well, one that will look at her with something more than anger, weighing the fate of them both in her eyes before it’s blinked away to make room for the ideals of Snow White.

“Here,” Emma says gruffly, handing Regina the bag. “You start your sentence today, and I think the people would appreciate it if you didn’t smell so ripe when you find their happy endings.”

The insult makes Regina breathe in sharply. Is this the way it's going to be now? Anger and bitterness and hurt. All their masks strewn aside as they fight with bloody fists. Regina straightens her shoulders when she catches the scent of lavender and spilt coffee on Emma’s jacket. She says, “This is how people who are forced to do the jobs of others smell.”

“I didn’t ask for this," Emma grits out.

“Neither did I.”

They stand there for too long, two hopeless people caught in the web of destiny. There’s nothing they can do to change any of this, to alter the way they hurt each other. And it’s that which makes Regina sidestep Emma, knowing the only relief she can afford herself now is to clean up.

But no matter how hard she tries to shield herself; Emma will always be Emma. She touches Regina's arm to stop her, and says, “Try not to be too long. Your coffee is getting cold.” It's her way of saying _I'm here_ without forgiving Regina entirely.

The sentiment makes Regina pause. It has her stumbling over her feet as she makes a beeline for the station's small bathroom, angry at herself for being appreciative of something so small. But as much as the town has changed, Regina knows she’ll never be the Evil Queen to Emma who only sees her as Madame Mayor, and perhaps that is the only thing that keeps her spirit alive.

If David glances between them with concern, then that isn’t Regina’s mess to handle. She’s got too much on her plate already.

…

“We’ll start with one,” Snow tells her. She says it slowly, as if speaking to one of her fourth graders learning the order of the planets in the solar system.

It grates on Regina’s nerves.

What’s worse is that Snow holds out a hat filled with names, shaking it in front of Regina’s face as a valid idea for fairness. “There must be a better way,” she grits out, trying to keep her cool. Because David stands there with handcuffs attached to his belt, and a very real threat of being treated like an animal if they don’t like her attitude.

“They want it this way,” Emma supplies. “They won’t order it from the easiest because they want you to suffer. If you don’t fix the first one, you can’t move onto the next. And the last person on the list might just get angry enough to kill you if they’re unhappy for that long.”

Emma forgets herself, forgets which side she’s on and who stands next to her with matching expressions of worry. It’s all a game, and Emma is the only one willing to see clearly through the fog. If it brings a smile to Regina’s lips, a genuine one that accompanies a touch of solidarity, then Regina tries not to fool herself into believing that she might still have an ally in all this chaos. Emma is no one to her, not without a son between them.

In an act of defiance—and not to save Emma from Snow and David’s questions—she reaches into the hat to pull out a name. _Jefferson_. “The Hatter,” she tells Snow, handing back the chit. Snow swallows thickly and pockets the page, looking nervous for the first time since she dished out this punishment. Regina supposes this is a reflection on all of them, that Emma’s words might mean more than she intended it to.

Grabbing the bag with Regina’s dirty clothes, Emma hikes it over her shoulder and gestures to the door. “You’re not going alone,” she says, sounding far too determined.

Snow whips her head around so fast; Regina is almost sure she heard a crack. “This is Regina’s punishment. She must do it alone.”

“Bringing back the happy endings isn’t only Regina’s job,” Emma spits, vicious and livid and all the things Regina understands too well, “It’s _mine_ too.”

She forgets, in the haze of this changing town, that Emma has found parents she thought she never had. Years of abandonment issues, the likes of which Regina is partially to blame, and it all comes bubbling up when Emma might’ve been healing. Regina knows Emma, saw the way she fought to make roots in this town—friendships, her son, a stable job, and a rival to finish the set. Then _this_ happens, and now Regina understands why Emma is so upset, why she’s so quick to believe in angry words that don’t mean anything.

“You said it yourself,” Regina says softly, sounding too young to be this tired, “they want me to suffer. And I am not so easily broken by the thought of someone else’s happiness.”

She _is_.

Regina is fragile and delicate. She enacted the worst of terrors to keep everyone else as unhappy as she. And maybe Emma gives her a look that says she doesn’t believe a word of it, but Regina chooses to ignore that in favour of helping along this strained parent-daughter relationship.

Regina thinks she’s won for an entire minute, that she can cross Snow and David off the list when Emma hesitates just a second. Instead, Emma says, “Nope,” and drags Regina out the station by her arm.

:::

Jefferson’s house is on the outskirts of town, surrounded by forest that’s so dense, it can hide any amount of bodies. Regina should know. There’s a man out there whose last words were to tell his son to run, that being an orphan is better than being raised by Regina who had nothing but love to give.

Twenty-eight years ago, Regina had sworn to herself never to let another child break her heart, but here she is, giving back happy endings for the sake of her son.

Emma seems to be trapped in the same promise, caught between two sides that oppose each other too openly to play them both. Driving to Jefferson’s house is Emma’s idea of running away, and Regina doesn’t tell her that it’s useless when the car speeds up along the deserted road. There are some things that a woman doesn’t call out, and this is one of them.

“What did you do to him?” Emma asks as they approach the towering mansion. Worry laces her tone, but Regina pays it no heed.

The faster she can get this over with, the shorter her list becomes. And maybe, if she’s successful here, Regina can gather up a little courage to ask after Henry. Pushing the door open, Regina steps out onto the road, her feet aching against the leather boots Emma packed for her. It’s clear as day that this outfit isn’t the choice of a boy. The purple dress had been tucked too far back in her closet, and the heavy black coat seems too plain to be chosen by Henry who knows the difference between braiding and fake pockets. The underwear was a dead giveaway; practical and built for comfort, the ones Regina wears when she isn’t feeling particularly sexy.

Catching Emma’s gaze over the car, Regina wonders if Emma imagined her in the underwear, put the outfit together in her head and thought herself proud for not packing a jacket or stockings. Idiot.

“You know exactly what I did to him,” Regina says, flexing her elbow that aches more today. It hurt to look in the mirror this morning, to see a purple bruise across her cheekbone and know she must’ve deserved it; but Emma’s silence on the way she looks leaves her feeling conflicted. Should she be grateful or bitter that her wounds are not given attention?

Somehow, Regina doesn’t believe this might be the last of them. Especially now as she walks up to Jefferson’s front door, knowing she can never make up for anything she’s done to him.

The doorbell rings before she can press it, another hand in her way that retreats to settle on a loaded gun. “I told you,” Emma says nonchalantly, “you’re not going alone.”

Regina softens a small amount at Emma's words. They've gone from fighting to some sort of truce. And she falls into it too easily, knowing that no matter what happens, if Emma insists on helping Regina face her demons, she won’t have anything to hide anymore. No more Madame Mayor, only the Evil Queen.

When the door flies open, Jefferson catches her looking at Emma with anguish, and his eyes widen at the sight of them both. “Well, well,” He drawls, leaning heavily on the doorframe, “the Saviour and Evil Queen.”

Regina huffs impatiently, displaying an aura of annoyance even as her insides twist with fear and shame. She has no magic, and Emma has been overpowered by this man before. He’s lost all sense of himself, drowning in a bottle too small. “We’re here to help you,” Regina tells him. “To get your daughter back.”

Jefferson spits out a laugh, swinging on the door that doesn’t aid him in regaining his balance when it sends him toppling to the floor. Emma reaches across the threshold to help him up, her hand no longer on the gun that made Regina feel a smidgen safer. Now all that remains is guilt, and cold dread that creeps up her neck and settles there like the icy fingers of her mother.

“My daughter!” Jefferson slurs, leaning heavily on Emma who wheezes under his weight, “spent years as someone else’s child. How—” he wipes his face with his free hand, removing all the laughter from his expression with a single action. “How am I to share her? To say, _here I am_ , your neighbour who has been watching you live your life, _unable_ ,” he stresses the word, dropping down to his knees as he loses his balance again, “to do anything. To be a father.”

Looking at his hands like the lines of his fate are drawn there, Jefferson openly weeps at the state of his life. Regina knows his choices, how he had given up his craft to spend more time with his daughter, how he grieved the loss of his wife. Regina had been cruel to him, all because he gave into temptation. Her callousness bares itself to her, reeking of alcohol and regret.

She steps into the house, closes the door behind her to preserve whatever dignity they have left. Jefferson watches Regina intently, following her as she kneels in front of him like a martyr. “You deserved it,” she whispers, and he recoils at her words.

“Regina,” Emma breathes in warning, but it’s promptly ignored.

Jefferson struggles to hold his smile, and Regina swallows back a sob when he asks, “You think I don’t know that?”

The exchange is a strange one, a puzzling back and forth to those who might not know their history. _I take something because you took something_. That has been the basis of their relationship from the start, from the time Regina looked up at Jefferson with hope in her eyes and all the stars burning brightly for a future of good. His actions may have very well created the evil inside her, and his punishment is apt, no matter how painful.

Regina exhales sharply through her nose, the stench of alcohol making her curl her lips up in distaste. “You think your daughter cares for your pity-party? That you regret what you’ve done and have decided to prolong your punishment?” She scoffs, withholding a laugh that might make this worse than it is. “Get up, or you will find that children aren’t as forgiving as you expect them to be.”

He looks at her, holding her gaze with the understanding of another parent. He hasn’t experienced the wrath of a child, but he fears it so greatly, that he’d rather hide in his mansion than face his daughter after so many years. But the comfort he seeks from Regina is guarded behind steel, and she won’t give him the satisfaction of time when she has none of her own to spare.

“I need coffee,” he says through his giggles, “lots of it.”

…

A greasy bag sits on the table between them, Granny’s diner printed proudly on the packaging. Regina takes some comfort in knowing that the town is slowly regaining its sense of normalcy, that its ability to adapt hasn’t been tampered by memories and hatred.

Nursing a cup of coffee, her fingers warming along the ceramic mug, Regina tentatively takes a sip when Jefferson stops eating long enough for her to get worried. He smiles at her, shaking his head as he tips the rest of his coffee into his mouth and sets the cup down harshly. “Have you eaten?” he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

She hasn’t, and her stomach pangs painfully at the sight of a grilled cheese sandwich laid out on a spare plate. “You’ve stopped slurring,” she comments, taking another sip of coffee.

“And I see I’m not the only one punishing myself.” Jefferson pointedly pushes the spare plate toward her, and Regina appreciates the sentiment, but how can she tell him that she’s not hungry? That she deserves every inch of this pain no matter where it comes from. But he sets his elbows stubbornly on the table, and only takes a bite of his sandwich when Regina breaks off a piece for herself.

They eat like this together, in companionable silence and heavy glances that are broken only by Emma’s hissed conversation in the kitchen behind them. Regina can’t make out anything from the discussion, but she knows it’s Snow on the other end with the shrill voice that gets louder every time Emma insists that she’s fine. None of them know how to parent, how to take care of another human being—and it surprises Regina that she pities Snow, that the girl who wanted nothing more than to be a princess with a husband and child must now learn how to take care of another adult. An adult who seethes at the thought of her independence being taken away, and yet, is furious that she had to learn to become self-sufficient in the first place.

“Feeling any better?” Emma asks when she’s done with her call, her phone tucked into her back pocket like the conversation with her mother is to be forgotten.

Jefferson shakes his head from side to side, his fingers waving in the space between them. “A little,” he admits. The sandwich is gone, and the third cup of coffee Emma was supposed to make doesn’t look like it’s arriving any time soon.

“Go shower,” Regina suggests, “shave. Make yourself presentable. We’ll see how you’re feeling afterwards.”

Getting help like this is a knock on anyone’s pride, it’s enough to start a war over. And Regina is guilty for this herself, for pushing away a fairy who offered to find Regina a soulmate. There’s still someone out there that the pixie-dust had pointed to, but Regina had been so afraid back then, refusing to follow the trail in case someone horrible like the King was on the other side. Maybe Jefferson feels like this now: exposed, and raw, but grateful nonetheless for someone who might care.

When Jefferson leaves, Emma watches him disappear down the hall, and then takes his seat next to Regina. “This might be easier than we expected,” she says, framed in the light of innocence.

All Regina does is laugh to herself. Nothing is ever easy; but telling Emma that would break something vital in the Saviour. For all her wicked ways, Regina pats Emma’s shoulder as she stands, sympathy weighty in the action. “Eat something. I’ll make more coffee.”

It shouldn’t hurt so much when Emma looks up at her, green eyes the same shade as Snow’s, her expression so sincere that Regina can’t help but look away. It’s bad enough that Snow still adores her, but having Emma do the same would kill them both.

:::

A stuffed rabbit is clutched in Jefferson’s hand, squeezed against his chest. The brown of its fur brings out the turquoise of Jefferson’s blazer, and the matching patterned scarf that shields him from the cold. He looks sober now, clean, and aware of the importance of this meeting.

The bustle of people from Town Hall down the way provides background noise, a distraction from the silence that Regina keeps out of respect. Emma stands with her to deter any parents from the use of violence, but Regina thinks the sorry state she looks might give them satisfaction to know someone else had gotten there before them.

The school bell rings, and Jefferson jumps at the sound. He looks ready to run, to stick to his narrative as the father who abandons. Regina reaches out to grasp his shoulder, to physically hold him in place. Any other time, Regina would have taunted him—she made him do her bidding just last week, had promised him his daughter in exchange for the sleeping curse that brought about her downfall.

Look how the tables have turned.

“Grace?” Jefferson calls, “my Grace?”

Regina releases him and accidentally steps back into Emma who grunts at the impact. She’s held steady by her hips, the touch too familiar for her liking. But Regina doesn’t have the energy to appropriately react, not when she sees Henry accompany Grace, his backpack still too big for him. When he spots his mothers, he pauses. His eyes follow Grace instead, watching as she rushes into Jefferson’s arms with a cry of, “Papa!”

The flash of jealousy Regina witnesses on her son’s face is warranted. And it shouldn’t warm her to know that he possesses the potential for darkness, that there is a part of her in him after all.

“Thank you,” Regina hears, and she tears her gaze away from her son toward Jefferson. He carries his daughter like a baby, hiked up on his hip like he’ll never let her go. “Perhaps,” he starts, “it’s time to stop punishing ourselves.”

“For you, maybe,” Regina says. “I still have a long way to go.”

Squeezing her arm with tears in his eyes, Jefferson lowers his voice to an ashamed whisper. “I truly am sorry.”

The sincerity of the apology heals something from the past, pieces together the person she had lost when Jefferson betrayed her. She says, “I’m sorry too,” like the envy she feels watching Jefferson get what he wants isn’t as serious as it seems.

Swallowing the bitter aftertaste of an apology too old, Regina releases the man with a stilted smile. He’s got his happy ending, but Regina finds hers tucked in the passenger seat of David’s truck. Henry hugs his bag to his chest, pointedly ignoring his mother who has hurt him too much. And it stings her to know that he’s still angry with her, that the wrath of a child is something Regina has yet to escape from.

Emma’s hands move from her back where they’ve made a home, her fingers curling into tight fists that she settles against her leg. “I told you,” she says smugly, “that it would be easy.”

“Yes,” Regina agrees. But not because Emma is right, but because Regina knows Jefferson will struggle, that he’ll berate himself whenever Grace tells him something new, something from her past that he wasn’t there to witness. Maybe he’ll find joy in it and learn to roll with the punches, or maybe he’ll succumb to his anger and find Regina in the station one night, put them both out of their misery. “Back to my cell? Or is your mother planning on giving someone else their happy ending today?”

“You’re lucky the people in this town are resilient.” It’s an accusation, something Emma expects Regina to feel bad about. “The schools and stores are open, people are trying to find each other with minimal chaos, and they’ve decided to let you off easy.”

Regina looks at Emma who refuses to make eye contact, whose arms are crossed firmly over her chest, and whose words sound parroted. “Is that what Snow told you?” Regina asks in disbelief. “That I deserve this? That Jefferson was wrongly punished by my curse—that he was an innocent? You don't know what he did to me.”

The entire world is crumbling, and the only thing Emma has to latch onto is Snow. The mother who is a leader and stronger than she looks. A mother who was Emma’s best friend before all this mess. But whilst the world continues to shatter, Regina will not let her name be dragged through the mud based on the tales spun by Snow White.

Emma takes a deep breath, holding it for a second as she searches Regina’s face. “What did he do?” she asks softly, the question in itself planting a seed of doubt against Snow.

Regina straightens her posture and fixes a smirk on her face, like none of this is affecting her. She says, “He betrayed me. He helped break me into becoming the Evil Queen.”

Exhaling, Emma uncrosses her hands and reaches for Regina, but she flinches from the touch. “I didn't know,” Emma says apologetically.

“How could you?” Regina can’t help but accuse. “All stories are written by heroes, and they don't give a shit about the rest of us.”

“That's not true,” Emma says in a voice so quiet, “I give a shit.”

Regina turns her face away sharply, her lips pursed to combat tears that shouldn’t be triggered by kindness of all things. She had promised to fight for her son, to go along with these silly games and try to find stability for the sake of Henry. But Emma has broken too many rules between them, and Regina cannot find another reason to live. Not now, not when Emma clings so desperately to a time before the curse broke, that it can only serve to hurt them both.

Emma tugs on her sleeve to get them moving again, and Regina follows with a frown when she sees Emma going in the opposite direction of the car. Stepping beside her companion, Regina pulls the lapels of her coat up to hide her face and stuffs her gloveless hands in her pockets to stave off the cold.

For a while, all they do is walk in silence.

It acts as a reprieve from the events of a curse breaking, her past rushing up to meet her at full force, and the woman who stands as a barrier between two worlds, desperate for things to go back to the way they were. When they reach the shore and the buzz from Town Hall is nothing more than a distant sound, Regina allows herself to relax.

“How long are you going to do this for?” The question comes like a wave, crashes on her with all the violence of a disaster and shatters the illusion of peace.

She chuckles darkly, and sucks in a long breath when Emma doesn’t laugh with her. “I want my son,” she says honestly. “I’ll do whatever it takes, for however long, to get him back.”

Emma glances at her with longing, but for all the wrong reasons. “It won’t be easy.”

“I never thought it would be.”

It’s an answer that doesn’t make Emma happy, but Regina has nothing to lose by being candid. Everything worth something to her has walked away or been destroyed, most of it by the woman who keeps her company now. The irony is not lost on her.

Emma takes a deep breath. She says, “Okay,” like there’s a calendar in her head that she’s reshuffling, testing out dates and sorting timelines. A scared someone with too much responsibility.

This thing they’re doing, where they stand in silence and pretend everything is fine; Regina can’t explain how intimate it is, won’t acknowledge that it means something beyond enemies and acquaintances. Whatever Emma needs right now, Regina seems to be the only person willing to give it to her. And if what she needs is silence as they walk back to the car, then it’s all Regina can do in the larger scheme of things, especially if she wants to see Henry again.

:::

The cell door locks behind her, clicks into place as Regina’s freedom is left outside. Emma looks pained as she turns the key, but it’s a duty they must both perform.

After restoring one happy ending to a man with as many sins as her, the Charmings look at her like she might be human after all. Snow’s eyes dance between her daughter and her adversary, concern and longing etched into her gaze. Emma won’t tell Snow what happened beyond a very stiff report, and Regina applies the cold shoulder to her enemy to preserve her emotional strength.

But the silence becomes too thick to breathe in, and Emma is the first to escape it. “I’ll go check on Henry and send David in for his shift,” she says.

Regina takes the bait, desperate to regain control. She leans against the bars like someone who isn’t hurt, and says, “Glad to see this is a family business now.”

“Yeah,” Emma taunts, “and you’d know all about how this place bends the rules.” She slaps a folder on the desk, one eyebrow raised in challenge. And it feels like they were doing this only days before, when Emma had been newly employed, and Regina had taken great pleasure in calling her _Deputy Swan_.

Memories of the year makes her smile; of having someone to fight with on equal measure. It’s an expression she lets slip in the company of someone who won’t understand, and she’s rightfully caught out by an awkward cough from Snow.

Emma clears her throat to hide her smile and grabs her keys to leave. But she hesitates at the door, stands there for too long before she turns to Snow and says, “I’ll get David to bring in some ice for Regina’s cheek.” Like they might be allowed to treat the wounds of their prisoner now that Regina has proven herself. The thought turns everything sour, and Emma turns tail and runs when she catches Regina’s glare.

Once Emma leaves, only Snow remains, standing there in the middle of the station with her arms around herself, like seeing Regina in this condition physically hurts her.

“I never wanted it to be like this,” she tells Regina in a whisper.

Regina redirects her glare from the station’s closed door to Snow. They’ve been here before, too long ago for it to still pain her, but the memories keep Regina from trusting too much, and she reminds herself to apply the same to Emma.

Coming closer than is necessary, Snow swallows thickly when she’s face to face with her old nemesis. “There’s still good in you. You _can_ come back from this.”

Regina chuckles as she runs her fingers through her hair to stop herself from reaching out and slapping Snow. “Have you made anyone else stand trial yet?” Regina asks, already knowing the answer before Snow can lower her head in shame. Here too, monarchs are ruled by powers of alliance and fear. The only collective villain has been Regina thus far, and Gold is too slippery to catch.

“So _typical_ of you,” she spits. “Keeping me here like a pariah, treating me like an animal—all so you can reap the benefits of my curse? Tell me Snow, how are you enjoying hot water from a tap?”

It’s always going to be like this; with Regina pushing Snow’s buttons, and Snow pretending like she doesn’t leave herself exposed as a conscious method of punishment. They know each other too well, and Regina uses this power to her advantage far too often. She may die a lonely death, but Regina can count on Snow to cry for her.

Physically pulling herself back, Snow straightens her posture. “One bath, three meals, and we’ll get someone in to tend to your wounds.”

Regina barks out a short laugh, amused despite herself. How fucking generous of Snow to treat her like a human, to reach inside Regina's closet and pull out the mask she wants to see. For Snow, Regina puts on a performance. But her desperation gets the better of her. “And Henry?” she can’t help but inquire, “when can I see him?”

For this, Snow’s lips thin into a line. She hides behind the experience of royalty when she blinks at Regina, most likely convincing herself that this is all for the best. “That’s Emma’s call to make.” And it’s final, set in stone as to who Henry’s real parent is. There’s no real court to beg for custody, and the people in power won’t give her the one thing she wants more than life itself.

“You can’t do this. You can’t ignore the ten years I was there—the years that Emma wasn’t!”

“And whose fault is that?!” Snow yells, her hands balled up into fists. “Whose fault is it that my daughter grew up an orphan?!”

Guilt. That’s what Regina hears coming from Snow.

Wrapping her hands around the bars, Regina leans in close, her voice a mere rasp when she says, “ _Yours_ ,” with as much cruelty as she can muster.

When Snow turns on her heels and runs just like Emma does, Regina expects to feel triumph. Instead, she’s left with hollowness, scooped out and left to rot.


	3. Furious children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: earthquakes. Panic attacks. Mention of bruises/bodily harm.

Regina is starting to learn that this is going to be her life now. It’s been a week of this, of seeing the inside of a cell and only going out to give back happy endings.

David will unlock the cell gate just as Emma arrives to bump into one thing or another, or spill coffee, or send a pile of paperwork toppling to the floor. Regina quickly grows tired of this clumsiness—she’s never known Emma to be the type of woman who makes adorable mistakes and smiles cutely when her parents help her in return. It seems forced, like a narrative from a Disney movie that shouldn’t apply to real life.

Every day the same bag is given to her, containing a clean outfit just as ill-matched and too extravagant for a day of gallivanting around town. But Regina doesn’t complain, doesn’t do more than force out a smile and avoid Snow’s narrowed gaze. The hurt still lingers between them both, and the only reason Regina doesn’t lash out is because she remembers that her son lives with them now, is taken back into his birth family like he was never abandoned in the first place.

Showered, washed, and changed, Regina emerges in a blue dress this time. It hangs loose around her shoulders, only barely hiding her decency as she stands there in too high heels and no jewellery. She knew she shouldn’t have taken out her earrings the other day and stuffed it into the bag. Emma doesn’t care about the details, and she certainly didn’t think this one through when Regina clears her throat awkwardly.

“I need help,” she says to the room of three. David turns with his hands on his hips, blinks at her with his jaw too low. “Emma?” Regina asks sternly, one eyebrow raised at Snow who stops mid-step. There’s no way in hell Snow is getting anywhere near her.

Emma says, “Yeah, fine,” and follows Regina back into the station’s small bathroom, away from prying eyes. Once she crosses the threshold, Regina braces herself for Emma bumping or falling into something, but Emma only closes the door softly behind her and avoids the cabinet that Regina herself is prone to knocking into.

Confidence oozes from Emma, bathes her in the type of energy that Regina allows herself to trust. A week of giving back happy endings, and Emma has never left her side since. She’s been a silent spectator as Regina apologised to Kathryn, helping her wordlessly find Prince Fredrick disguised as Jim, the P.E teacher. Then, there was the time Emma nearly punched Grumpy in the face for spitting out a slur. That happy ending had taken them over three days to solve; and Regina still remembers Mother Superior’s face when Emma barged in and demanded to take Sister Astrid with them.

She may be no knight in shining armour, but Regina can’t deny the amount of times Emma has saved her in this week alone.

“Are you going to stare at me the entire time or…”

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Regina turns to bare her back to Emma. The blush on her cheeks manages to subside when Regina convinces herself that this might be a product of proximity. It’s been far too long since she trusted anyone, longer still since anyone has seen her half-dressed and forced to perform a task too intimate.

Cool fingers slide up her back, zipping the dress in one fluid motion. And Regina gulps, forgetting to rationalise when the fabric sits taunt against her curves. She expects Emma to leave after her job has been done, and she turns slightly to utter her thanks; but Emma reaches over Regina’s neck, brushing her fingers against the sensitive skin there as she grasps onto the small strips of fabric that hang loose over Regina’s shoulders.

The neckline is adjusted, and more of Regina’s skin traitorously heats up at the contact as Emma ties a small bow across her shoulders.

Maybe Emma lingers there too long, turning the edges of the bow and smoothing the fabric out. But Regina doesn’t dare move, doesn’t _breathe_ if it means breaking the moment. She doesn’t understand what it is, won’t name this thing that feels heavy. A solid weight that pulls down over her arms and settles on her elbows, straightening out the hem of her sleeve. This is the most tangible thing Regina has experienced in a long time, and it scares her to think she wants more of it.

“You don’t have to,” she tells Emma in a whisper, turning slightly toward her. They’re too close, and too gentle with each other for this to mean anything. But Emma looks at her with longing, like she might represent a life that was erased when the curse broke.

The responsibility of what Regina might represent, of who she might be to the Saviour who would never exist without her…

Emma’s hand remains on Regina’s elbow, holding on too tightly. The ache from her fall a week ago is almost gone, but she flinches when Emma steps forward to touch her face. Emma’s expression pinches. “I’m sorry,” she says in a voice too soft.

The swelling has finally gone down, but the bruise looks ugly and painful. Nurse Ratchet had come in every day to tend to her wounds, keeping Snow’s promise of medical care and the other luxuries an Evil Queen shouldn’t have access to. But it doesn’t make any of this less hell.

She pulls her arm from Emma, cutting whatever tension rests between them in half. Regina carries her portion to the door, pauses it there for a moment when she turns to murmur out a, “Thank you.”

Before Emma can respond, before she can say something heartfelt and aching, they’re interrupted by a low rumble. “What was that?” Emma asks instead, and Regina shocks herself into reality when she realises that her lust has no room to dwell here.

Another tremor hits, this time more powerful than the last. She can hear David’s shout from outside the door, glass breaking, and the groan of the bathroom cabinet that comes tumbling toward her.

It happens too quickly for Regina to comprehend. One moment she’s casually standing by the door awaiting death, and the next she’s pressed against the opposite wall with her face in Emma’s chest.

“Are you okay?” Emma asks in a wheeze.

Regina looks to the bathroom door, sees the cabinet on the floor where she had been standing. “I would have been fine,” she snaps, pulling back to look at Emma who breathes too hard. What she finds in Emma’s eyes is a desire that mirrors her own, something ugly and dark that's almost too tempting to resist. But Regina remembers herself, stacks her priorities in order, and pushes Emma down to the bottom, _away_ from her.

The bathroom door opens against the cabinet, and David peeks his head inside. “You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Emma answers breathlessly, but her lips thin into an angry line and she rolls her shoulder where Regina had shoved her. “You and Mary Margaret?”

Emma has been doing that, calling them by their cursed names despite their new titles. It’s like a whip to Snow every time. And Regina would feel a sense of victory about it, but now that Henry calls her Regina instead of Mom, there’s no joy to be felt from the pain of another parent anymore.

David grasps one end of the cabinet and begins to lift it up. Emma rushes over to help him, giving it an extra push for it to clear the door. “We’re okay,” David says through a grunt, “but I think we’d better get out there and see what caused this.”

He pats down his belt and reaches for the keys that will put Regina back in her prison. She wants to cry at the sight of them, of being denied her chance to walk outside because of a disaster that wasn’t her fault. “What about Henry?” she asks. “I need to make sure he’s okay.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Regina. He’s at school with teachers who are trained for things like this.”

“But what if he’s not?! What if he’s scared and—”

She’s stopped by Emma who touches her arm, soothes her like someone who might know her panic. “Let me take Regina to see Henry.” Emma conveys her thoughts with authority, hiding her irritation behind action. “It will be better to have her come along with us than making someone sit at the station with her. We need as many hands as possible.”

“I can stay with her,” Snow says from behind David. Regina had forgotten she was even here.

For the first time, despite her guilt at her unruly behaviour, Regina looks to Emma to help her. She can’t stay here; she can’t sit still knowing her son is out there. Regina might be useless in a situation like this, but better for her to show up than pretend not to care at all.

David moves aside to allow Emma to pass him, to be embraced by Snow and checked over for any injuries. “You used to be Snow White,” Emma tells her mother, and Snow looks at her with a frown. “You’re the person everyone looks to for hope and guidance. I can’t have you here in the station when you’re needed out there.”

“But—”

“I know what I’m doing,” Emma snaps. Regina’s eyes widen at the outburst, tastes darkness in the air that’s so similar to Henry’s. Licking her lips, Emma softens her posture and grips Snow’s arms. “Trust me,” she placates with a strained smile.

Snow straightens, taking a deep breath to ground herself. “Fine,” she agrees, “but call us if anything happens.” When she pointedly looks at Regina, Emma barely contains an eyeroll.

“I’ll call,” Emma says, but it doesn’t sound like a promise.

When Emma stomps out of the station, Regina takes the liberty to smile triumphantly at Snow before she follows the Saviour out into the street.

:::

The problem with Regina’s sentence is that it doesn’t consider the feelings of others. The ideals behind giving back happy endings has been fairly well received by those she has helped, but it’s only because the Saviour accompanies her, providing a shield between the people and their villain.

When they arrive at Henry’s school, Regina finds herself sandwiched between parents who had the same idea as her. They don’t care for etiquette, or for the children who are inside their classrooms and far more resilient than their guardians give them credit for.

It’s the sort of chaos Regina gets lost in, where her arm slips from Emma’s grasp as people push and shove. This situation would have been easily diffused if she were still the Mayor—stand up on a podium, shout out orders for them all to calm down. But the people aren’t cursed anymore, and their obedience isn’t as easily bought.

“Everyone!” she hears. “Can everyone please _shut up_?!”

The crowd silences. Drops to a low murmur that evens out into nothing. Regina looks up at the image of Emma standing there with her hands outstretched, irritation in the lines around her eyes as she glares at everyone who dares to speak. “The kids are fine. If you want to take them out of school, there’s protocol to follow. Now if everyone can please form a line, Missus, uh—” She clicks her tongue, gesturing wildly at the Principal whose name she’s clearly forgotten.

What was once a situation that looked to be under control only erupts into the same chaos again. After a particularly hard shove to her side, Regina can’t take it anymore. “ _Enough_!”

Maybe it’s the surprise of seeing her there amongst them, maybe it’s because they associate her with authority from too many curses ago that they all pause at the sound of her voice. Pushing past the rows of people, Regina snatches the clipboard out of the principal’s hands and steals Emma’s place from where she stands on a rickety chair.

“Your children are better behaved than you!” she snaps, and everyone drops their head down in shame. “Now, children in the lowest grade will be allowed to leave first. If you have more than one child in different grades you may pick them up together. The idea is to have as—”

“Hey! Who put you in charge?” someone from the crowd shouts.

Another, pipes up, “Are we really allowing the Evil Queen around our _children_?!”

And there it is. The uproar.

Emma looks up at her with worry, and Regina readies an acerbic reply when the words are stolen from her by another tremor. The chair wobbles, and Regina nearly falls for the second time, but is narrowly saved from embarrassment when Emma reaches out to steady her by the legs. Someone screams in terror, another gasps in shock, and when the earth settles again, all hell breaks loose.

“I just want to fetch my kid and go!”

“It’s not _safe_ here!”

“What the fuck is happening?!”

The crowd presses toward the school gates, and their panic is something that the sheriff can’t handle on her own. Inhaling deeply to centre herself, Regina clutches the clipboard to her chest and grips Emma’s shoulder for support. “Do you think your children are safer with you if you behave like _this_?! Do you think they are going to feel better knowing you’re willing to kill each other trying to get to them?”

“Yeah?” A woman asks, pointing at Regina, “you’re one to talk.”

Regina laughs at the accusation. “Well, I’ve been there. And let me tell you, it’s hell.” She’s a show to them, something to stare at as they walk past, something to listen to when they feel bored. This is how it’s always been, and it’s worse now without magic to enforce her will. But Emma still holds her steady, and there’s a certain amount of respect the people have for their Saviour, enough that Regina can take advantage of it.

“The Sheriff’s department is currently employing the disaster management protocol. Every asset is being utilised to make sure the townspeople are safe, which _includes_ your children. Now, if you wish to take your child home, please do so in an orderly manner—the best thing we can do for them is to remain calm.” She sweeps the crowd with her gaze, pointedly looking at the people who were unruly earlier. “I will call out the names for the children in first grade, if you are here to pick them up, Principal Clorina will assist you.”

Holding out the clipboard, Regina begins. And miraculously, the people listen.

…

She’s been up here for nearly twenty minutes, in which time another tremor has threatened to take her down, and where she chokes on Henry’s name when she calls it out. It’s only the pleading face of Principal Clorina that keeps her rooted to her spot atop the chair as Emma goes in her place, leaving Regina behind on unsteady ground with the loss of her support.

Jealousy rises as bile in her throat—whether for Henry or Emma she doesn’t care to find out—but she swallows it down and moves onto the next name.

By the time everyone has been accounted for and the parents clear out, Regina’s throat feels like sandpaper and her legs wobble dangerously when Principal Clorina gives her a hand to step down.

“Thank you,” Clorina says, taking back the clipboard. “If it weren’t for you and the Sheriff, there would have been a stampede.”

Regina dismisses the compliment with a click of her tongue, already antsy and eager to reclaim the time she thought she would have spent with her son. Besides, Regina knows the praise is short-lived, that the people who are grateful now will not hesitate to carry a pitchfork to her cell if need be. “You did most of the work—your expertise is unmatched.” It’s a throwaway comment, meant to end this conversation swiftly, but Clorina smiles at her with knowing and steps back.

“You deserve it, you know,” reaches Regina’s ears as she enters the school gates. Pausing, because two seconds ago she was being held in high regard, Regina turns on her heel to face the stabbing sensation of betrayal head on. Clorina continues, “Your happy ending. Not all of us suffered when you brought us here.”

This is more surprising than betrayal, and it must show on Regina’s face when she stands there looking at Cinderella’s stepsister with her mouth agape. When she finally collects herself, remembers that her son is being comforted by _Emma_ of all people, Regina heads inside the school with conflicting thoughts on just what she might deserve.

Her heels click on the tiled floor as she makes her way to Henry’s classroom, the sound echoing along the empty hallways until she hears a soft voice.

“…but what if it’s a lie?”

Regina stops, braces herself against the wall as she listens. Henry sounds so small, so unsure of himself. It cuts her up to know that she might be the cause of his doubts, that he will never trust his instincts again because she lied to him and made him feel foolish.

“It’s been over a week now,” Emma says, “and your mom might have done some really shi—bad things, but I think she’s trying to make up for it.”

Creeping closer to the class without making any noise, Regina peers at the pair sitting together on the floor. Henry looks down at the storybook open on his lap to the picture of Regina, and Emma leans against him as she holds out a bag of gummy worms that Henry shamelessly sinks his hand into.

Gods, all the cavities.

He shrugs, tracing the picture with his finger as he chews. “She made me feel crazy,” Henry confesses, and Regina closes her eyes at the agony it causes her. “I _am_ angry. I want to be angry with her, but…”

At this, Emma wraps her arm around Henry, pulling him into a hug that Regina feels envious of. “Listen,” she says against Henry’s hair, “no matter what, that’s your Mom. You’re allowed to feel angry—hell, even I’m angry. But that doesn’t mean you have to _stay_ angry. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt in my time, then it’s that people are…complicated. And your _Mom_ —” Emma emphasises the word, scoffs with humour as Henry looks up at her.

“I know,” Henry whispers back.

They stay like that for a long time, long enough that Regina considers whether any of this is worth it when Emma is learning how to replace her so quickly. But then, Henry looks up from Emma’s embrace and catches her gaze, his eyes filled with tears that doesn’t dare drop onto his cheeks that are squashed against Emma’s arm.

It’s unnerving how he doesn’t break eye-contact, how Henry continues to silently stare as Regina enters the room and crouches next to him. For all his Charming genes, he is so much like her, that it’s impossible to think Emma hadn’t given birth to Henry just so Regina could have him. The ties that bind them can’t be broken by curses and rage, and Regina proves that when she leaves herself vulnerable to her son, waiting for him to act.

Emma watches them both, a silent spectator that loosens her grip on Henry as he shifts. She looks caught out, an imposter with good intentions who hasn’t made a space for herself yet. And Regina is realising that the doubts of all these people around her might be the cause of her own hand. If she hadn’t interfered in Emma’s relationship with Henry, maybe those maternal instincts tucked away behind a wall might be easier to reach. Maybe, they could have shared him.

But a life like that only exists in the dreams of the guilty, and Regina has too much of it to spare.

“I saw you,” Henry says tentatively, like he hasn’t allowed Regina the privilege of this conversation just yet. “You were helping.”

“I tried,” she answers through a lump in her throat. “But I wanted—” And it’s instinctual how she reaches for him, tenderly brushes the hair away from his eyes. She pauses when Henry flinches, and Regina understands that they haven’t reached that level yet; that they’re not friends, and perhaps they have never been. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.” She completes her sentiment in a hurt whisper, her hand hovering between them before it drops down to her lap in shame.

“I’m okay,” Henry tells her sharply, testing her limits as he turns to glare at the picture of the Evil Queen.

Emma touches Regina’s arm to get her attention, then glances to the door in a signal for them to leave. No matter how they try to sugar-coat it, Regina is still a prisoner, and Emma is still the Sheriff that’s needed in a crisis like this. Holding them up here in an empty classroom is doing no one any favours.

But that damned picture stares up at Regina, mocks her with her own face and a story that’s only half-told. “That isn’t me anymore,” she says roughly, and Emma squeezes her hand painfully. The world may be ending, but Regina will not give up whatever time she can steal with her son, especially now when she has so much to make up for.

Henry looks up at her with wide eyes, seeing only the darkness in the grey instead of the light that was once there. “But it is,” he rasps, “you did all those things.”

The only thing Regina can offer him is a watery smile. He’s naïve, brought up in a way that preserved most of his innocence if only because Regina had lost her own too soon. For everything her mother did, Regina did the opposite. But, she can see how flipping the coin doesn’t mean it’s an entirely different one, that raising her child to be good doesn’t guarantee he won’t have darkness, that he won’t see the cruelty in her and hold up a mirror to the woman who raised him.

Reaching over to close the book, Regina hides her own image under stories that are just as important as hers. She says, “The things I did brought me here to this town, to _you_.” And she makes sure that Henry knows her sincerity, that he feels how serious she is when she takes his hands in hers and holds it to her heart. “I meant what I said before. I am _truly_ sorry for making you feel like you were imagining things, for making you doubt yourself. I was wrong, and I will regret hurting you for the rest of my life.”

“But?” Henry asks, his question a whispered wheeze that hides a sob.

At this, Regina holds Henry’s chin in a gesture she’s done since he was a baby, maintaining eye-contact with him as the dynamic of their bond shifts. “But nothing,” she answers, “you have every right to be angry. You can take all the time in the world to forgive me, but I will always be here for you.”

He doesn’t forgive her, he’s too heartbroken to offer anything of the sort. But Henry finally allows his tears to fall, to rain down his cheeks and collect on Emma’s jacket sleeve in a pool. “I don’t like feeling like this,” Henry admits. “I want it to stop.”

When he reaches for Regina like a small child, Emma relinquishes him with ease. The weight of her son pins Regina down, but her eyes follow Emma as she escapes the classroom with wet eyes and anger of her own.

“It’s okay,” she tells Henry. “It’s all going to be okay.” But Regina doesn’t quite believe it, not when she holds onto Henry as the earth rumbles, feeling just as furious as the three of them.

…

“Does Storybrooke even have earthquakes? I can’t remember us having one before.”

Regina can’t help her smile. She forgets how strong children really are, that they can go from being anxious to curious in a matter of minutes. Henry is no different as he holds the straps of his backpack and skips ahead of his mothers with a hundred questions for them both.

“We’ve never had earthquakes before,” Regina says, “the town was always protected by a magical barrier that—”

“So, it’s because of magic? Do you think it’s the curse? Is it—”

Emma whistles out a low, “ _Oh_ -kay,” with an awkward chuckle, and effectively cuts off Henry’s line of questioning. “Listen kid, if I know you—and I do, then you’re gonna want to get involved in this. And I don’t want you getting hurt because we went in blind.”

For a moment, Henry looks guilty for indulging himself in the world of magic, for pestering his mother about details of a possible adventure when she’s supposed to be a villain. And Regina gets it, her own mother was a piece of work too. But Henry is different from her, and he laughs when Emma forbids him from coming along.

This is where Regina sees Emma in Henry. In the smug smile and casual shrugs, in the easy way they seem likable. The strength to take things in their stride and pretend not to care when they will cry over their mothers and joke about it afterward. She should have known it would be impossible to keep them apart, not when faced with two people bred from the same stubbornness as Snow White.

Regina stops herself from thinking about the family tree, not unless she wants a self-induced headache.

“Regina and I will find out what caused it,” Emma says from beside her. “In the meantime, you can stay with David and Mary Margaret at town hall. I’m sure they’ll have plenty for you to do.”

Henry pouts. “Come on, Emma. You know I’m good help.” He has one broken curse under his name after all.

Licking her lips, Emma looks to Regina for assistance, and it startles her to think that what they’re doing is co-parenting. “Emma is…” Regina tries not to choke on the admission, “right. We can’t have you in danger, especially if there might be magic involved—which I don’t think there is.”

“But what if it is? How are you going to fix it?”

Emma shares a glance with her that’s worrying, but Henry has so much faith in them, that she selfishly smiles at him and says, “I promise, if it’s a magical problem, I’ll fix it.” And to make matters worse, because Henry’s face doesn’t light up the way she thought it would, Regina elbows Emma and promises something else. “And your mother will record it.”

And that is what finally makes Henry relent.

:::

Henry doesn’t relent.

For all the strength in the world, Regina sits here helpless as she watches her son hyperventilate. “I can’t leave him,” she tells Emma in a distressed whisper.

This is the part where her civic duty becomes a punishment, where her son must take a backseat for the betterment of all involved. But Emma touches her shoulder and tenderly strokes Henry’s cheek with a resigned nod. “Okay,” she says. “David and I will find Gold, see if he can tell us if this is a result of magic. In the meantime,” She looks at Henry who takes in rasping breaths, “I’ll keep you informed.”

They’re a team. Balancing each other out when needed. And Regina dares not dwell on why she’s suddenly grateful for someone who might treat her as an equal after everything. Maybe, it’s because she’s fallen so far, that being pulled up to the level of an ex-con is as good as she’s going to get.

But for now, Saviour or not, her son seems to be crumbling. No matter the comfort she provides him, Henry doesn’t let go of her, doesn’t ease the grip he has on her dress that’s probably stretched beyond repair. When she moves just the slightest, he tugs her back with the pain of someone who might lose everything.

So, they sit like this in her old office, holding onto each other as Snow bustles about behind the desk.

“Principal Clorina had good things to say,” Snow comments. There’s a sullenness to her tone, and Regina narrows her eyes at the woman who is content to blame her for so many things. The perfect princess looks sleep deprived, and just as hollow as Regina. A prisoner to the people and their demands, and too soft to say no.

Papers litter the desk, tenders all laid out and set beside a heavy stamp that looks as if it’s been overused. Regina shifts to better see, but Snow pulls them all together and places them in a neat pile, setting the stamp atop them to hide the letters from their former mayor.

“You don’t need two construction companies,” Regina comments without thought. “You need one who will time the contracts apart from each other, so the citizens don’t bite your head off with all the noise.”

Snow side-eyes her, stiff and angry like her daughter who has run off again. There are so many furious people in this family, and Regina isn’t the worst one.

“Mom can help,” Henry pipes up. He’s calmed down enough that he can speak, but his words sound raw, grated down by grief that Regina doesn’t quite understand. “She helped Principal Clorina. Mom can help you too.”

He sounds hopeful, bright and blinding like the child he was always meant to be. Regina sees Snow melt, can feel her deciding how this might impact them all if she allows the town’s villain to help rule. She crosses her arms over her chest, her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. “Maybe,” Snow says after clearing her throat. And it sounds like she considers this as a valid option, that she’ll grab onto anything to stop herself from drowning.

Regina’s shock is nothing compared to Henry’s relief. She feels him sag against her, his cheek resting against her chest as he closes his eyes. Something about today makes him anxious, and Regina isn’t sure if it’s the tremors that continue to rattle them both or the bruises on Regina’s face that Henry keeps glancing at.

“Maybe,” Regina answers softly, ignoring the jealousy in Snow’s gaze as she hugs Henry close.

For a while, they sit in companionable silence as Snow flitters in and out of the office. No one else dares come in, not until Emma slams open the door and jolts Henry awake. “Gold is missing!” Emma announces with David hot on her tail.

“What do you mean, Gold is _missing_?” Because the man can’t disappear after all this mess, and Regina certainly won’t allow him to leave her here with a broom in her hand and strict instructions to clean up.

Emma paces in front of them, her hands on her hips as she speaks. “We searched the entire town, but Gold is nowhere to be found. And this wouldn’t be so worrying if parts of the place didn’t look like they’ve turned into a forest. Not to mention the tremors have only gotten worse.”

Sitting up, Regina looks at Snow who clutches her fist to her chest, all teary eyed and dazzling smiles. “We’re going home?” Snow asks in a breathy whisper.

Regina shakes her head as she physically refocuses on Emma. “What about Belle?”

“Belle?”

“The woman Gold was with during my trial. If you find her, you find him.”

David wraps an arm around Snow’s shoulders and tugs her close when he shakes his head at Emma. “I didn’t see her anywhere. Gold’s shop looked like it was cleaned out of all valuables. No cash in the register, no wands on the shelf. He’s gone, and I think he’s taken Belle with him.”

The troubling turn of events clearly point to a magical cause, and Regina feels foolish for not anticipating something like this. All magic comes with a price, no matter if it’s used to make a curse, or break it.

“Are you going to fix it?” Henry looks up at Regina with wide eyes, his question not filled with the awe that he inherited from his grandmother, but rather the bitter end of fear that looks like a flash from Regina’s own past. She doesn’t know what to tell him, can’t promise anything without magic of her own.

“Fix it?” Snow asks aghast. “The curse is finally breaking. We can go home to the Enchanted Forest.” She kneels to Henry’s eye-level, smiling at him wide. “You can be a Prince, and Emma—” she chokes on the name, emotion heavy in the way she glances up at her daughter. “She won’t have to be the Saviour anymore.”

Snow means well. Regina knows her purity comes from a place of good, but Emma flinches at her words, nonetheless. There is no choice in the matter, not for Henry nor Emma, nor Regina who will be thrown in a dungeon and forgotten.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Regina hisses, pulling Henry further into her embrace. “The two worlds are colliding, and not in the way you think it is. If you allow this to continue, no world will be left behind. When I brought us here, I didn’t _create_ this universe. I only created the town, and if two existing worlds come together instead of only the _people_ moving across—”

“They can cancel each other out.”

Regina nods at Emma’s conclusion. “Exactly.”

Sweeping her arm across the couch, Emma shrugs her shoulders like the solution is easy. “Okay then, what do we need to do? Cast some spell to make it stop? Throw herbs into a pot or something?”

The insult is enough for Regina to want this all to end. Throwing herbs into a pot? What is she, a hedge witch? “It’s far more complicated than that. I’d need access to my vault.”

“Absolutely _not_.”

“You have a vault?”

David and Emma glance at each other, assessing how they lean over Regina with their hands on their hips. One with an adamant refusal for a witch to gain access to her tools, and the other with their curiosity piqued. It’s a scary sight.

Emma says, “Maybe, you can tell me what you’d need, and David and I will get—”

“You don’t have time, Miss Swan! We’ve wasted enough of it trying to wrangle the denizens into obedience, and now that they’re under control you cannot afford to be complacent.” She’s aware that she sounds like a queen, that despite being on edge and too close to Emma when she stands, that Henry still has a grip on her hand and refuses to let go.

“Mom, please,” he murmurs. “Emma and David can do it. You don’t have to fix anything.”

“Henry…No one else has the ability to fix this.”

“What about Blue?” He asks, tugging on Regina’s hand, “can’t the fairies do anything?”

There isn’t any time to emotionally pamper her son, no matter how much she wants to comfort him through this extremely stressful day. “Their magic is different from mine. Dark magic caused this, and only dark magic can fix this. If I don’t do anything, no one will survive.”

“But what if you don’t come back?!” Henry chokes on his words. He releases her hand to press his fists into the cushions with force, glares at her with red rimmed eyes as his body vibrates with anger that only comes from fear. He stuns everyone into silence as he takes in a stuttering breath, gearing up for a fight. “They don’t care! They don’t care if you die!”

“Henry,” Regina tries to soothe, but Henry yells until his voice cracks, flinching when she reaches for him. This is the height of it, the volcano that erupts despite the human sacrifices and prayers to a God.

He chokes on his spit, looking too small to be a child capable of breaking anything, let alone a curse. His guilt sits on his chest, and Regina aches for him as he holds his face in his hands. “They h-hurt you,” he cries. “It’s all my fault! You’re gon-na _die_.”

Wiping away tears of her own, Regina takes shallow breaths to try and contain her own sorrow. To be a child who sees so many things happening, each after a major event where you were in the centre—Regina knows how it feels, how easy it can be to believe your actions were a catalyst for darkness. And Regina having a bruised face that only looks worse as it heals can’t be helping Henry; neither does knowing his mother is rotting away in a cell, dragged around town as a punishment he thinks he caused.

She reaches out toward him again, but Henry shakes his head and pushes her away. Why entertain her now when he thinks he’s going to lose her anyway?

It’s Emma who pulls him into an embrace, carries him on her hip like a toddler, and sets his head down on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” she tells him, rubbing his back gently as she bounces on the spot. “It’s never your fault that your parents did what they did,” she glances at Snow and David who look down in shame. “Me, Regina, even your father,” Emma adds to take away the sting. But the message is clear, and Regina watches her old enemy shrink back into her place.

“You’re worried about Regina?” Emma continues, “Don’t. Your mom is the strongest person I know—and if _anyone_ ,” she stresses the word with underlining rage, “anyone touches her. I will personally deal with them.”

Henry sniffles, still hiccupping from his sobs. “Promise?” he rasps into Emma’s neck.

When Regina looks at Emma, she’s startled to find Emma staring right at her. There’s fierce loyalty in her eyes, the type that comes from generations of admiration, and Regina gasps in shock when Emma says, “I promise,” like a knight swearing fealty. “I promise,” she says again, turning to Henry, “I’ll make sure your mom stays safe.”

This is the most amount of parenting that Emma has ever done, and the others in the room can only watch as Emma carries Henry out into the hallway.

“Go,” Snow tells Regina. And that’s all the invitation she needs to run after Emma who gently sets Henry down in the reception next to Red who smiles at them.

“Ruby will take care of you until we come back, okay?”

Henry nods as he wipes his face, already leaning into Red who throws a casual arm around him.

“Madame Mayor,” Red greets her with a smile. Regina tries to swallow her fear, but it must show on her face despite her efforts. “Don’t worry,” Red adds, “I’ll make sure Henry is taken care of.”

Nodding, Regina bends down to place a kiss to Henry’s hair. “I’ll be back soon,” she tells him, cupping his cheek gently. “Don’t worry about me, I have the Saviour by my side.” If she forces a smile for her son, then it’s worth it when he tentatively smiles back, even if Emma’s eyebrows raise to her hairline and her chest looks a little bit puffed out.

“ _The Saviour,_ huh?” Emma whispers when Regina walks past her. And honestly, what did Regina really expect?


	4. Unlikely partners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: bodily harm. Major character injury.

They’re usually accompanied by someone or the other. David is the first to say he wants to tag along, but this time, no one dares stop them as they walk out of Town Hall. For the first time in a long time, Regina feels powerful.

“Where is your vault, anyways?” Emma asks as they get into the car.

Regina smiles to herself as she buckles in. “The cemetery. Under my family’s mausoleum.”

There’s silence for a long time after Emma starts the car, but the amusement in her voice is palpable when she says, “You witches and your creepy locations.”

All Regina can do is cackle, hiding her pain behind a layer of humour that Emma recognises too well. They’re alike in this way, where the suffering of their child is heavy on their shoulders, and instead of lashing out at the world, they laugh at each other.

By the time they arrive at the cemetery, Regina and Emma have matching expressions of concern on their faces. Almost every building they passed has greenery creeping along the walls, and the roads concave into muddy puddles that signal the coming of a storm that neither of them are prepared for. It’s a sight that makes Regina anxious when she steps out of the car, a feeling that twists around her concern for Henry. The responsibility for them both makes her grasp the car door to steady herself, trying to look strong.

“We can fix it,” Emma says from somewhere behind her. “Right?”

Regina straightens up. “Right.” She sounds surer than she feels, but Emma’s shoulders relax at her confidence, and it’s all Regina needs to march up to the cemetery and ignore the tombstones with faded names. She doesn’t want to know how many of them she had put in their own graves, but the one that still haunts her serves as a guard to a vault from a different world.

“Is there a secret password or…?”

Throwing a look over her shoulder, Regina retrieves the skeleton key she had taken from her old office and unlocks the mausoleum. Dust reigns down on them when the doors open, and cobwebs line the walls as evidence of Regina’s forgotten grief.

Her hand runs over her father’s tomb, wiping away the dust over his name. “Hi Daddy,” she whispers under her breath, feeling small again. Emma only allows her a moment, then clears her throat awkwardly from where she stands. “Help me push.”

“This?” Emma asks, sounding mildly offended for Regina’s father. She isn’t given the same courtesy of patience however, and Regina does the job herself before Emma joins her, halving the weight of the tomb.

A staircase drops down into the shadows, following the sound of beating hearts that live without their owners. Emma doesn’t comment on either of it as she trails behind Regina like someone obedient to a promise. The silence is only broken by a ping from Emma’s phone, and a sigh that makes Regina look up curiously.

“The dwarves tried to cross the town line,” Emma says as she presses the back of her hand to her forehead. “Sneezy is now back to being Mister Clark, the pharmacy owner. No knowledge of magic or curses in sight.”

Any information at this point is valuable, but Regina can see how it distresses Emma. It means they’re trapped again, held in a prison bigger than Regina’s, but just as painful. Serves them right.

“If Gold left,” she says distractedly, rifling through a pile of books set on the floor, “and he didn’t come back. Then maybe whatever he did offset the balance of Storybrooke with the Enchanted Forest.” She looks up at Emma with a slight tilt of her head. “Or what’s left of it anyways.”

She tosses another book into a corner and reaches for the next, but old Elven spells won’t help her now. Regina needs something that will retain the border between two worlds. Something physical, and without forcing them all to leave town and relive another curse.

“What are you looking for?” Emma asks. She’s useless here, a guard that stands quietly in the corner with every urge to inspect the magical items around her.

The question she asks is valid, and Regina forces herself to think of anything she can use quickly. They haven’t much time if the earth continues to tremble, and the cracks along the vault wall give up their task of holding still. They’ll have to rebuild everything if it comes to that, but if they fill it, apply pressure where needed…

“My mother’s spell book. There’s nothing else that can stop this other than magic focused on the barrier between the worlds with intent.” She turns toward Emma with a smile, a plan forming in her mind. “It’s written in squid ink. If I can get it, then I can activate my magic and use it to stop whatever Gold started.” The rest of her explanation is lost as she rummages through the rest of the books, knowing she must’ve packed it.

Emma’s hands come into view, turning over every book that Regina has discarded. “No, no.” she hisses at Emma. “It has a ruby in the shape of a heart embedded in the cover. The pages are gold.”

Like a switch, Emma shifts into work mode. “I’ll tell David to check in Gold’s shop too,” she says, and after sending off a quick text, Emma begins. She searches faster than Regina, not taking any time to reminisce about the past when their future is in jeopardy. There’s a determination about her, and it startles Regina when there’s a book shoved in her face with a silent question.

It’s similar, but the heart in the cover is emerald, and there’s nothing in there that can help her. Emma doesn’t get as disheartened as Regina and continues to toss various tomes in her direction until it’s evident enough that Cora’s spell book isn’t here.

“We can look again,” Emma tells her in a frantic tone, already going through the volumes they’ve discarded. “It has _got_ to be here.”

The cracks in the wall grow larger, and Regina watches as it crawls up to the roof and reigns dust on them. “Call David,” she says, stilling Emma by grasping onto her arm. “It isn’t here, and we’re running out of time.”

It feels like they’re throwing in the towel when they run up the stairs. But Regina keeps tugging on Emma’s arm to pull her away from the vault, reminding herself that whatever they do now is for Henry. She had promised, and if that means putting herself in danger to keep him safe, then that’s what she’ll do.

“No!” Emma says, and Regina startles at the outburst as she drags Emma across the very green cemetery. “Look again!” She yells into her phone. Regina swallows back bile as she shoves Emma into the car.

As she slides into the passenger seat, Regina steals Emma’s phone from her ear and she gestures for them to get moving. “David,” she greets, not giving him any time to respond. “If you cannot find the book, then the only way to stop this is to find another curse.”

“No!” David says in the exact replica of his daughter. “No more curses. There has to be another way.”

She closes her eyes, centres herself with a deep breath. “Then I’m going to have to fix this myself. From the point that still connects the two realms.” Regina glances over at Emma who puts the car into gear, her jaw tense with worry. “The well,” she tells David and Emma, and then cuts the call. They can do what they want with that information.

“The well it is,” Emma murmurs, and for once, Regina wishes she weren’t such an agreeable ally.

:::

The car rattles as another tremor rushes through, followed by a bout of greenery that creeps along a new surface of the town. Regina clutches the dashboard for dear life, feeling afraid for the first time in a long time.

To save people from calamity isn’t something Regina does. She _is_ the calamity, the one responsible for disaster. But being on the other side isn’t as fun, and it frays her nerves until she’s a babbling mess. “Henry needs to go back into therapy,” she blurts out.

Emma glances at her, but otherwise remains focused on the road as she speeds to the other side of town. “You think Archie is still taking patients?” Emma asks.

Regina scoffs. “You should be asking if he’s still qualified.” Grunting when Emma turns sharply to the left, Regina grits her teeth together and only breathes out a sigh of relief when they’re on a stretch of straight road.

“I’m pretty sure his cursed memories are intact.” Emma looks at Regina with a raised eyebrow, “And he’s all we have.” Emma perks up suddenly like an idea has just occurred to her. “Hey! Why don’t _you_ go to therapy? It would show the town that you’re trying to be better.”

“And running around trying to give back happy endings in obscenely high heels and tight dresses haven’t been proof enough?”

Spluttering, Emma has the gall to look insulted. “I picked things that you usually wear! Forgive me for trying to make you feel a little more like yourself.” She harrumphs, like a spoilt child who worked tirelessly on something only for it to be ignored. Regina should appreciate the sentiment, but her feet hurt too much to ignore in favour of Emma’s ego.

She casts a wary glance to her side, only to roll her eyes when she sees Emma smirk. This is the dynamic Regina understands, the one that makes her feel like she’s still in office and has a son at home who will stay up late chatting into his walkie-talkie.

Life was so simple back then.

The car slams to a stop just as Regina opens her mouth to say something else. Emma holds out a hand to grasp her arm, keeping her in place as they watch a large vine crawl across the road and settle there. “Shit,” Emma breathes.

“Indeed.”

…

Every now and again, Regina throws Emma a dirty look as they walk. Her heels sink into the wet earth, leaving holes in the ground that remain there like a stain, so easily trackable for anyone who wants to either stop or help them.

The woods themselves have been untouched by the vines, but a slimy moss covers most of the trees and rocks, leaving Regina dependent on Emma who constantly turns back to offer her a hand when they must climb over one thing or another.

It’s infuriating.

“So,” Emma starts, carefully stepping over a mossy rock, “how are you going to solve this without your mother’s book?”

It’s a question that Regina hasn’t been able to ask herself, but now that time is running out, she understands that everything always amounts to this. “Gold sacrificed my innocence for this curse. And he sacrificed this curse for magic. Whatever he used to leave town is demanding what he didn’t give.”

Emma grasps her arm to pull her up over a large root, and Regina can see her question before she makes to ask it. Darting her gaze to the side to avoid it altogether, Regina gasps when she finds what they’ve been looking for.

The moss stops in a large ring around the well, a pulsing energy keeping everything at bay. It stinks of magic and failed spells, of the desperation that Gold must’ve felt before finding a way to leave. Regina takes a silent step forward, but Emma grabs her wrist before she can enter the circle. She too must notice the absence of life within it.

“What are you going to give?" she asks. Emma has sounded worried before, but Regina doesn’t think it has ever been for anyone other than Henry. It’s disconcerting to witness that care redirected to her, to see all the things left unsaid burning behind Emma’s troubled expression.

They are not friends. They are not lovers.

Yet, Regina brings her hand up to Emma’s shoulder, squeezes just tight enough to let the Saviour know that she’s scared. “Get Henry into therapy. Make sure he has a routine, that he knows whatever happened isn’t his fault. That I—” She stops herself. Emma already knows that she’s made promises too hard to keep.

She’ll try to force the magic out, but they both know it’s useless in this new land with all its obscure rules. If the magic is not directed, then it will take what it needs from Regina without asking. This is what Regina accepts when she pushes away from Emma to step back, to give whatever she must to keep everyone safe. But that damned hand around her wrist tugs her back, and Emma glares at her with all the intensity of a woman who refuses to break a promise.

“What will you give?" she asks again through gritted teeth.

It’s frightening how small Regina feels, how the circle around the well burns against her back where it tries to reach, promising things even the Saviour can’t deliver. “You can’t save everyone, Emma.”

And she means it when she steps backward into the circle, her magic painfully pulling from her skin. It burns, singes through her strength as she doubles over in pain, punished in ways Snow was too cowardly to execute. Regina bites back a scream as her veins turn purple, her magic bubbling to the surface as a sacrifice. Her only mistake is that she doesn’t think about her hand that’s still within Emma’s stubborn grasp, not until cool fingers loosen its grip and slide down from her wrist, barely holding onto whatever is left of her.

_This is it_ , Regina thinks, _I’m alone_.

And it should be her end, because Gold has orchestrated this to a fine point. But just before her fingers escape Emma’s, the emptiness from the well filling the space between them, something _happens_.

Emma’s eyes swirl with gold, a storm in her gaze that focuses on Regina with such fierceness, that Regina gasps against it. “The hell I can’t,” Emma growls, her voice resonating with power that skips and jumps in sparks of magic.

It’s a sight that latches onto Regina, burns an image behind her eyelids as light dances over their joined hands. Emma’s grip tightens, interlocking their fingers together as Regina breathes in the magic, and feels her own respond in kind. The purple in her veins fade back, eager to be used by its mistress who cackles in delight. When she turns toward the bubbling well with her hand outstretched, she doesn’t think much of it. Her magic answers her demand like a second limb, makes a show of its power as it blasts into the well with a vibrant display.

Her hands tremble as she holds the spell, focusing all her energy on closing the barrier that fights back with equal enthusiasm. But sweat drips down her brow and her body begs for relief after days of being a prisoner.

“Together,” she hears. Emma stands beside her inside the circle, her free hand already outstretched toward the well. She doesn’t have much to give, but when has that stopped Emma before?

“Together,” Regina repeats.

When Emma adds her magic to the fight, it feels like an entire army is behind her. Skilled and quick, easy to command something so loyal. The scent of cinnamon and lavender wafts in the air, and the vines recede as if answering an unspoken call.

Regina can only watch in amazement as the well cracks along the edges, a pulse of resistance blasting back in warning. “Brace your—!”

Thrown back, Regina scrambles to hold onto Emma as they land on the compact earth, but Emma’s hand separates from hers and their magic breaks its connection as another blast of energy surges through the town.

She’s shielded by a leather jacket that hides their faces from falling debris, and Regina is ashamed that she’s not as focused on the threat they’ve managed to defeat; but rather that Emma is pressed delicately against her, and that she feels just as solid as her magic.

“We need to get out of here.” Emma makes to move, to grab Regina and run for cover, But Regina grasps her hand to stop her.

“It’s supposed to do that,” she winces, trying not to draw attention to the world of pain she’s in.

There is no more energy being expelled by the well, and yet Emma refuses to move off her in case of another attack. “You did it?” she asks tentatively.

Maybe, she hit her head a little too hard because Regina offers Emma a genuine smile and chuckles at their accomplishment. She says, “No, _we_ did it,” like she might trust Emma to be more than her enemy’s daughter.

Instead of celebrating with her, Emma pushes back in shock. “Yeah, well, we made a promise to Henry.” And that’s that.

Oddly rejected, Regina refuses Emma’s hand when it’s offered to her and gently stands up on her own. There’s mud splattered across her dress and coat, and her skin feels like it’s on fire, but it’s nothing compared to the way Emma looks at her.

Like she’s _afraid_.

:::

Doctor Whale examines her like he’s forced to change a diaper. His upper lip is permanently curled up in distaste, and if it isn’t for David standing in the corner of the room with his hand on his gun, Regina is pretty sure Whale would have done more than simply being impolite.

“No breaks or fractures, but you do have a bit of tissue damage which will heal in about two weeks. I’ll prescribe some pain medication, but otherwise you need rest.” He looks at Regina as he takes off his gloves. “Try not to make it a habit of coming in here.”

“Watch it,” David warns, but Whale doesn’t bother with him as he walks out of the examination room.

They’ve all been careful around her after Emma brought her back to the station a few hours ago, and it seemed an appropriate time to ask for a proper doctor. There’s only so much nurse Ratchet can patch up with the limited tools she’s given. And besides, she saved them all—or Snow keeps telling everyone, effectively ruining Regina’s reputation.

But the rest that she’s assigned doesn’t seem like something she’ll be getting anytime soon. The thought of sitting idle in the station cell makes her skin crawl, leaves her vulnerable to demons and saviours that will visit her with false intentions of kindness.

David’s phone rings, startling her from her thoughts. She watches him turn away from her and lean into the device, one hand on his hip with his fingers resting lightly over his gun. “You sure?” he breathes in a whisper, scratching his head as he processes whatever it is that’s requested of him. “Okay. Be careful.”

He looks over at her with a sigh, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand as he takes a few steps closer. “I have some damage control to do. Emma will take you back.”

“Isn’t she checked in too?” Regina asks with a frown. “Hospital protocol says she’s not allowed to drive back if she’s a patient.”

David blinks at her. “She wasn’t hurt,” he tells Regina softly. “You took the brunt of the fall.” There’s a thank you in there somewhere, but Regina is far too shocked that she’s being treated like a person. She would have thought to be handcuffed to the bed, but all David does is pat her arm in gratitude and wait outside her room until Emma comes.

Regina leans against the hospital bed and pulls the covers up to her chest. Her entire right side feels tender, and she cringes when she leans too much on her arm. Regina hadn’t been thinking when she reached for Emma, but after that display of magic, she knew what she owed. She only hopes the Charmings think her debt is paid in full, even if Emma refuses to tell anyone that she has magic of her own.

The glass door pushes open, and Emma stands there with that bag hanging limply in her grip. “Hey,” she says, nervous.

“Hey.”

They stare at each other until Emma lifts the bag up. “I brought you some clean clothes.”

“So, I can look decent for my prison?” And there is no need to be snippy, but the feeling of rejection throttles all her goodwill, and Regina submerges herself in it without thought to fight.

At this, Emma sighs. She sets the bag down by the bed and takes a seat on the visitor’s chair that’s dragged closer. “You did a good thing today,” Emma tells her softly. “The town is back to normal.”

“I didn’t do it alone,” Regina hisses, disappointed despite herself that she had welcomed the help when it was extended to her.

Emma’s hand settles on the edge of the hospital bed, drawing her nearer than Regina would like. She looks earnest when she says, “And you would have died if—” She cuts herself off, swallowing thickly like the thought is too painful to voice. “You were being stupid.”

Regina can’t hide her shock at the accusation, can’t mask her surprise at being called stupid by someone idiotically brave. “I did what was necessary, and if you weren’t so stubborn, everyone would be genuinely happy instead of placated.”

Offended, that’s the look that crosses Emma’s features. She stands suddenly, the chair skidding across the tile with the action. “And Henry?”

“He’ll learn to live. Like _I_ did.” Regina gestures with a nod toward Emma and says, “Like _you_ did.”

Emma leans down sharply to Regina’s eye level, looking furious and vulnerable, and Regina bears witness to the Saviour’s anger with awe. “I will not,” she spits out, “have my son experience the same things we did. He deserves better. He deserves to have his promises kept.”

Too much is revealed, laid there for Regina to pick apart and use as weapons, but instead she finds herself softening. “Who broke their promises to you?” she asks in a curious whisper, and Emma’s anger deflates behind shock.

Handing the bag to Regina, Emma straightens up and crosses her arms over her chest. “Tell me if you need any help.” And this is what Emma does when things get difficult, she draws the curtains around Regina’s bed and hides behind the wall she’s constructed. But Regina can still make out her shadow, can see her tense shoulders and rigid posture that says more than it wants to.

Magic and villainy go hand in hand, and what does it mean if the Saviour has magic too? That she used it to protect the most hated woman in town?

Sighing loud enough for Emma to hear, Regina opens the bag. She’s pleased to find a pair of black slacks, a white shirt, and a pair of black loafers that she only wears indoors. This is the most comfortable clothing Emma has brought her, and Regina takes it as the apology it was meant to be. Closing her eyes, Regina remembers when Emma had taken her on a walk a week ago, where the only thing she had wanted was a silent companion. Whatever Emma is going through, Regina owes her something familiar to hold onto.

She says, “I do own an iron you know.” And subsequently gives Emma what she needs.

Emma’s shadow shifts. “I know.”

She sounds like Henry when he’s rattled in the cupboards and taken one too many sweets. Regina frowns as she finishes dressing up, then throws back the curtain to stare disapprovingly at Emma. Standing with her hand on her hip and her lips pursed, she asks, “What did you burn?”

“I never said I burnt anything!” Emma avoids her eyes by hiking the bag up on her shoulder, and it seems like they’re back on steady ground when Emma allows herself to behave childishly and be humoured for it. “I broke it.” All Regina can do is look at Emma wide-eyed, demanding an explanation. “It was a bad day,” Emma breathes.

For all her antics, Emma drops so quickly into honesty that Regina can’t hold her accountable for it.

“Maybe, you should see Archie too,” Regina jokes.

Emma smiles too wide, hunches her shoulders too much for Regina to think she might be lying. “Maybe,” Emma says, and Regina wrestles the humiliating urge to embrace her.

…

“Are you afraid of me?” Regina asks once they’re on the way to the station.

Emma glances at her with a frown. “No,” she denies. “Should I be?”

Should she? Because saving each other is not something they do, but they’re bound to the practice by a promise and a son they try not to hurt. And sometimes, like today, those promises can cost a whole lot more than anyone expects.

“You used magic,” Regina announces impatiently, refusing to let this be another unsaid thing between them. “Aren’t you curious about it?”

Swallowing thickly, Emma stops at a red light and flexes her fingers over the steering wheel. She looks terrified; a woman who isolates herself and refuses to let anyone in. But Regina has been given the privilege to peer inside, to see the Saviour as nothing more than flesh and bone, someone who will bleed for an enemy. The thought shouldn’t make her feel so warm.

“I can’t do it again.” Emma grits out, shaking her head slightly. She turns to look at Regina with her fear locked away behind another wall, held prisoner alongside the reason her magic was activated in the first place. “And I don’t want to. I’m not ready for this.”

Regina inhales, feels the tension of this conversation coil around the tendons in her neck. The taste of Emma’s magic had been intoxicating, had tamed her own magic into submission by chasing the loneliness away if only for a moment. She craves it again, thinks of all the ways Emma can do good if she really wants to. “One day,” Regina says evenly, “you will be ready. And you will be _powerful_.”

“I don’t want power.” _Unlike you_.

Laughing through an exhale, Regina hides her envy behind her knowledge. She says, “You don’t have a choice. Fate is a twisted thing. No matter how hard you try, you can’t run away from it. Look at you now, Saviour.”

Emma shifts uncomfortably, like the title isn’t one she wears with pride. She moves the car into gear again, running away with her problems packed into the passenger seat. “You tried,” she argues. “I’d say it worked out pretty well.”

This time, Regina laughs so openly that the sound rattles Emma. “Oh dear,” Regina sighs. “You think it was a coincidence that I adopted the Saviour’s child? That he found the adoption papers before I could tell him and then ran off to find you? Everything happens for a reason.”

They approach the station, and Emma takes her time to process Regina’s words as she parks the car. Regina doesn’t wait however and grasps the door-handle to flee from a painful conversation, but Emma grabs her arm to stop her.

“I don’t think everything is decided by fate. I didn’t have to go to prison, I didn’t have to be betrayed, I— things could have been different if I fought.” Emma squeezes her arm, begging Regina to agree. “And you know that.”

“Fighting doesn’t change anything,” Regina says with equal desperation. “It only makes you seem cruel to those who wished you had stayed quiet.” Magic, her son, this curse. It all adds up to nothing when everyone could have been happy had she stayed mum. Been unseen, a doll to parade for a King who loved his daughter more.

Emma’s chest rises and falls, angry despite herself for things buried in the past. Magic will do that, will unearth everything, and lay it bare for you to pick and choose. This is what Emma is forced to do when she releases Regina’s arm and starts the car again. “Fate can suck it,” she murmurs under her breath, reversing out into the road.

Changing gears, Emma huffs at something as they speed down Main road. “We make our own choices. We control our destiny. And you know what—?”

“—What?” Regina interrupts, unable to hide her fear as she watches Emma go rogue.

“I’m making a choice today. You’re not going back into that cell.”

The concern for her safety as Emma drives like a maniac is discarded. She gets to go home, have a shower with hot water instead of lukewarm. She gets to choose her own clothes and sleep in her own bed. Regina clenches her jaw to keep her tears at bay, too prideful to voice her gratitude.

Mifflin street feels like worlds away from the station, and not because of its grandeur. Her house has been destroyed. She can see broken windows and the spray-painted genitalia from here. The lawn looks like someone set fire to it, and rolls of toilet paper are thrown over whatever trees are left standing.

This is the point where Regina doesn’t care for her tears, but they slip down her cheeks anyways. “What did you let them—”

“It was either you or the house.”

Regina breathes hard as Emma drives to the last house on the street, part grateful that her rant had been cut off before she said something unforgivable. The car leans to one side and rebalances as Emma gets off and slams the door closed. Regina sits there, stewing in her grief.

The door is pulled open, and cold air rushes into the car as Emma bends down to look at her. “I’m sorry about the house,” she says sincerely. “But maybe, this place might be better?”

A set of skeleton keys is dangled in front of her face in invitation, and Regina releases a dramatic sigh as she takes Emma’s arm to exit the car. Leaning heavily on the support she's offered, they walk up to a single-storey house painted white, with a green door, and a wall of shrubs that provide as much privacy as possible.

“No one lives here,” Regina comments.

Emma rolls her shoulders guiltily. “You do. Kind of. I might have stolen a house?”

Regina suppresses her outrage and reminds herself that she’s not the mayor anymore. Holding back a slew of arguments, she watches as Emma unlocks the door and gestures for her to enter with a pleased grin.

It’s smaller than her own house, but it’s clean and neat, with only a few boxes strewn about labelled _Regina_ in messy capital letters. A few of them are opened, and it makes sense now why Emma had been bringing her clothes she had long since packed away. “Did you move all my things into this house?”

Hanging the keys up on the rack, Emma closes the door behind them and pulls her further into the space. There’s an excitement about her that Regina can’t help but notice, a lightness that hasn’t been present for a long time. “I figured the people wouldn’t be too happy with your sentence so I took whatever I could and put it here. Henry helped. He has his own room when the loft gets cramped.”

Emma points out the room that’s sparsely decorated, but unmistakably Henry’s with the Ironman covers and the stack of comic books on the bedside table. “Are you sure he stays here?” Regina can’t help but ask, still in disbelief. She had spoken on the phone with him earlier, but he had been exhausted. She had felt guilty about wanting to see him, but maybe now she doesn’t have to be.

Nodding, Emma gestures to the next room with plain white walls, a double bed flanked by two bedside tables with one lamp missing. “You can stay here. We’ll decorate as needed.”

“And you?”

Because Henry can’t stay here alone, and there’s a room down the hall that Emma hasn’t shown her yet. “We’ll see,” Emma says with a smile, but Regina knows what she’s sacrificing.

“You don’t have to do this. Snow will have a fit if she finds out you’ve taken me out of the cell.” It’s an easy out for Emma, to say she tried and then reclaim the freedom she’s so easily given up.

But Emma laughs at her instead. “Well, will you look at that,” she drawls. “Her Majesty has a heart.”

She scoffs, and says, “Please. If you read the books, you’d know I have many.”

Emma guffaws, but otherwise remains a smiling statue that barely blinks. She thinks too hard, measures everything with such preciseness, that it’s no wonder they’re perfect opposites. “They must’ve deserved it, right?” Emma asks, desperate to find the good in Regina.

“Some of them,” she agrees. “Not all.” And it’s as much as she’s willing to say on the matter. Emma gets the hint when Regina steps back and runs her hands down her thighs, shifting into a defensive posture.

Emma smiles at her in understanding and touches Regina’s arm as she passes. A casual thing, like they’re allowed to be comfortable around each other now. This isn’t any different to how their magic felt; intertwined and held in an embrace that made it seem like they were invincible together. Maybe Emma craves that, maybe she needs a little strength.

“We made a good team today,” Regina forces herself to say. Because Emma can’t hide from her magic forever, and this town might need more than one witch if events like today keep happening.

Emma pauses at the front door. When she turns toward Regina, there’s a wistful smile on her face. “We did, didn’t we?” And there it is, an acknowledgement. “Imagine if you hadn’t been a jerk before, we could have ruled this town together.” She laughs like it’s a joke, and any thoughts of magic is brushed under the carpet with humour.

Regina crosses her arms over her chest. She says, “No one is stopping us now,” with a hint of a challenge in her voice.

Like a secret caught between them, Emma’s smile fades at her words. She hacks out a chortle when she opens the door and steps out, shaking her head as she tries to make Regina’s words sound less than serious. “How about we start at friends?” She offers instead.

Leaning against the doorway, Regina exhales through a muted agreement. Emma lingers, her excitement from earlier all but gone as she waits with bated breath. She hesitates too much, hides all her problems in a cupboard that can’t possibly stay closed for so long. One day, Regina knows, Emma is going to explode.

“Friends,” she agrees after too long, and Emma breathes a choking sigh of relief before she turns around and escapes again.


	5. Sullen friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: allusion to marital rape.

A day. That’s how long it lasts.

Snow barrels into the house with Emma hot on her tail, and Regina jumps at the sound from where she sits at the kitchen counter.

“No,” Snow says defiantly.

Calming her racing heart, Regina runs her fingers through her wet hair and tries not to wince when the action makes her side hurt. “Good morning to you too.” And it is as condescending as Regina can get, because the sight of Snow standing here in Emma’s stolen house can only mean one thing.

Sipping her coffee, Regina tries to savour the experience of drinking from a cup and saucer, of wearing the clothes she picked out herself, and having had the privacy of sleeping behind a solid wall before it’s inevitably taken away.

“Mary Margaret, please,” Emma pleads, standing between her mother and her friend with her arms outstretched. “Regina is hurt, she saved the entire town. The least we can do is give her a proper bed and freedom to go to the bathroom whenever she wants.”

Snow shakes her head. “Emma, I know how much you care about Regina, but stealing her away isn’t the answer.”

“I was not _stolen_ ,” Regina barks.

Emma waves her hand in irritation for Regina to keep quiet, but her gaze remains fixed on Snow. “This isn’t about Regina,” she argues. “How do you think Henry feels knowing his mother is in jail? That because of him, because of _me_ ,” she stresses the word, pointing to herself, “Regina is being punished. If only he left the curse alone—”

“But the curse _is_ broken. And Regina _is_ being punished for the crimes she committed.” Grasping onto Emma’s shoulders, Snow looks at her daughter square in the eyes, and Regina feels like an intruder who can’t leave her cup of coffee out of principle. “You have no idea what Regina has done. The lives she’s taken.”

Anger boils in her blood, hot and raw. She squeezes her cup to stop herself from reacting, but her magic bubbles up to the surface of her skin, pounds behind her eyes as a warning.

“Regina is right here!” Emma yells, pointing at Regina who stares at her in shock. Her magic fades into the background as her honour is fought for, just as curious as its mistress. “I don’t know what she did in your land, but here in this town, where _my_ _son_ is forced to watch his parent become a prisoner, I decide what’s best.”

A pinched look takes over Snow’s face, one Regina has never seen before. It’s fascinating how Snow fights between being a mother and a queen. A moment Regina isn’t supposed to bear witness to, but here she sits, enraptured.

“No,” Snow denies softly, looking down at her shoes like her strength might lie there. “No,” she says again, this time to Emma’s face with the conviction of a monarch. Regina delights in the display. “I am the Queen. I decide what’s best for this town until we go back to the Enchanted Forest. And Henry will learn that being a prince means making hard decisions. The curse breaking was destiny, but Regina casting it was her choice. She goes back into holding.”

There is no room for discussion in her tone, and Regina has just about tolerated enough. Her magic reacts without restraint, careless with Emma’s trust as the cup in her hand shatters, sending a spray of coffee everywhere. “I will not be treated like an animal!”

Snow flinches but stands her ground, and Regina is ready to end this even if it might break her heart. A hand to her chest stops her, however, sends her toppling back onto the stool as Emma looks down at her with coffee dripping from her hair.

“Regina stays. I don’t care what destiny says, I don’t care—”

“Of course, you care! You wouldn’t be defending Regina if you didn’t. I’m doing what’s best.”

“Oh yes,” Emma hisses. “You always do what you think is best. But did you ever think about me?! Did you ever think about how I would live when you sent me away?” Shouting, so much shouting. Regina grits her teeth as she watches Snow and Emma finally have it out, sees Emma explode far sooner than expected.

Frowning, Snow curls her fingers into a fist and steps closer to Emma who moves back to keep her distance. “I saved you,” Snow says in a whisper, “I saved you from being killed. Regina was adamant on making sure you never survived.”

Regina swallows, darting her gaze away from the pair in the kitchen who step on broken glass caused by her doing. Emma glances down at her, to where her hand is still fisted in her shirt, and ever so slowly, she releases the fabric. The absence of Emma’s warmth is shocking, leaves her grappling to clutch onto the same spot to preserve what Emma hadn’t intended to give—what she purposefully took away.

Snow tentatively comes closer, and this time Emma doesn’t escape her. “I was going to come with you, but the wardrobe only had space for one,” she explains, kindness and charisma dripping like poison from her lips. “You came early, but I refused to give up hope. I sent you away to keep you safe, not because I didn’t love you.”

Choking on the half-truths Snow tells Emma, Regina shifts in her seat in an attempt to escape. She’s an intruder here, the villain who isn’t caged but prisoned by the evidence of her crimes regardless. And it hurts to think that she would have done anything to keep this curse intact, that Emma would have paid the price no matter her age. But when Emma shakes her head, her eyes shining with tears, Regina feels the brush of Emma’s hair against her arm and she stills if only for a moment longer.

“You gave me up because of _destiny_ ,” Emma counters. “Because I was going to break a curse and free everyone. If you cared about me at all, you would have found another way, a better way. But you didn’t.” She stands straighter, her voice rolling over a ball of emotion that anyone would be foolish enough not to hear. Shrugging out of Snow’s grasp, Emma settles her hand on Regina’s shoulder and effectively pins her in place. “And now,” Emma breathes, “when I’m trying to do right by my son, so he doesn’t lose his parent like _I_ did, you don’t have a right to tell me what to do.”

Glancing up at Emma, Regina gapes. The walls build back up before her eyes, and Regina realises how intelligent Emma really is when she brings an emotional fight back to its original point, when she doesn’t lose sight of her ideals. “Regina stays,” Emma declares. “Destiny can fuck itself.”

Slapped, just like Regina wanted to do all those weeks ago. That’s how Snow looks when she steps back toward the door, betrayed and heartbroken. “This won’t end well,” she whispers in warning, “loving Regina never does.” And when she slams the door behind her, Regina holds her breath as Snow’s words wash over her.

“She’s right,” Regina says in an exhale. She sits there in shock, her chest aching with old memories that she’s ashamed to have forgotten. Loneliness, despair, hatred.

Emma bends down to pick up the pieces of the cup, busying her hands as her jaw tenses with anger. “Go have another shower,” she counters. “I’ll take care of this.”

Dismissed, packed, and set aside like something too difficult, Regina seethes at Emma’s attitude. “I would have killed you,” she says, as if that would make Emma forgive her mother. “I tried to kill you a month ago.”

All Emma does is turn to offer her a sad smile, longing etched into her gaze. “Would you kill me now?”

And there’s that awe again, passed down from mother to daughter like a curse, but Emma is more than the sum of Snow White, and Regina finds that she cannot lie to the one person who sees her truth. “No,” she answers in an ashamed whisper, knowing too well what it might mean.

When Emma’s jaw unclenches and she turns back to her task, Regina leaves her to pick up all the broken pieces and goes to wash the stench of magic and emotion from her skin.

:::

Agony, pure unadulterated agony.

Two weeks pass in a blur of pain, and it’s only combatted by the pills Doctor Whale prescribed. There’s a delivery of food every morning from David who looks at her in worry, but Regina snaps and snarls, and only rests when she’s left alone.

She allows her days to wither away in bed, to wrap herself in the duvets and hurt from the inside out. When the pain medication kicks in and her muscles relax, that is when Regina feels the most vulnerable. More often than not, the tears come, and when she has nothing left, then loneliness follows like an obedient dog.

Evenings however, no matter how much she tries to fight it, are reserved for Emma.

She arrives with the same worry as her father, but all the bravery of her mother when she points out the containers that haven’t been touched. “I can’t do this anymore,” Emma says.

“Then don’t.”

Emma sighs and digs in the cabinets. “If you don’t eat, you don’t get better. And if you don’t get better…” Emma trails off, sounding too much like a parent when she dishes the food into two bowls and microwaves them one at a time.

Regina stretches, and Emma’s eyes immediately snap to her exposed midriff. All these evenings and Regina notices how Emma looks at her, how she shifts from concern to desire in a matter of seconds. Before, when the pain was too much to handle and her bruises were alarmingly present, Regina hadn’t concerned herself with matters beyond herself. But now, when all that remains is stiff muscles and a few tender spots, Regina holds onto Emma’s heated gazes like a lifeline.

“How are you feeling?” Emma asks as she hands Regina a bowl and takes a seat next to her on the couch.

Automatically, Regina lifts her blanket to drape it over Emma’s legs and settles into a comfortable position. Picking at her macaroni, she sighs. “Most of my bruises are gone.”

It isn’t an answer, but Emma doesn’t call her out on it when she looks over Regina’s face and nods her approval. “Henry will be happy.”

She shifts, and tentatively says, “You can bring him by tomorrow, let him see for himself.”

Regina knows she hasn’t been stopped from speaking to her son. She calls him every day whenever the pain isn’t too much, and lately she’s been able to speak to him for longer, laugh freely with him as he tells her a joke he heard from Nick or listen attentively when he tells her a story he read about. She hasn’t been ready for him to see her after the last time he panicked, but maybe now it might be time.

Emma pats her leg as she swallows a mouthful of her food. “Eat up, then. You know your son is going to give you a hug, and I can’t always be there to steady you if you fall.”

She says it so nonchalantly, a memory thrown out there from when they were miserable strangers learning about each other all over again. Regina can’t remember the woman she used to be, the one who couldn’t trust anyone. For all her secrets about magic and abandonment, Emma has been the only one to stand by her.

“I know,” she says softly, “sometimes I’ll be the one steadying you.” Emma’s gaze ticks up to her, holds her eyes in disbelief that slowly morphs into warmth. Taking a bite of the food, Regina chews on the new feeling of desire that isn’t as heated as she knows it to be. When she identifies it, sees the reflection of whatever it is in Emma’s expression, Regina swallows the feeling down with her food. “This isn’t Granny’s,” Regina says suddenly, looking down at her bowl.

Emma’s mouth closes, trapping whatever sentiment she wanted to express behind her teeth. “It isn’t,” she agrees. “I made it.”

Regina raises her eyebrow, impressed and shocked. “You can cook?”

“I lived alone for a few years. Of course, I know how to cook.”

“I just...”

“What?” Emma asks, “thought I ate take-out every day?”

Regina bites down on her lower lip to hide her smile and takes another bite of food to stop herself from admitting that _yes_ , that’s exactly what she thought. “It’s good is all.”

The pleased blush that crosses Emma’s features isn’t what Regina expected, but she finds that she likes this look on Emma, one that’s knowing of her worth. “Thank you,” Emma whispers, like she takes the compliment and tucks it in her pocket.

Regina smiles at her, and Emma’s eyes caresses the upturn of her lips. She raises an eyebrow smugly, chuckling softly to herself as she turns away to take another bite of her food. Emma’s gaze darts away, respecting her boundaries as they eat together in silence. And Regina wonders if not for the first time sitting beside Emma like this, if this is what peace feels like.

:::

Doctor Whale gives her the all-clear after a thorough examination at Emma’s request. She’s still tender in places but healed enough that she can move without too much pain. It also means that when she steps out of the hospital that afternoon, Henry is there to greet her.

He rushes at her at full force, and Regina winces in readiness. But Emma grabs Henry by his waist before he can reach her and pulls him up into an impromptu hug. “Wow, I didn’t know you were so happy to see me,” she teases him.

“ _Mooom_!” he whines, but giggles at her antics anyways. Regina freezes at the term, feels her body stiffen in betrayal as she witnesses how easily she’s replaced. He seems content to give Emma the title of Mother. And Regina should be happy for her…friend.

She _is_ happy.

She tries to be.

Guided by Emma, Henry stands in front of Regina with his hands in his pockets and a nervous smile on his face. “How are you?” he asks, sounding very scared.

Regina looks to Emma, watches as she shuffles awkwardly, but otherwise doesn’t interfere. His fear is still present, either for Regina herself or for the punishment she’s sentenced to endure, she can’t be sure. Kneeling with some difficulty, Regina strokes Henry’s hair from his forehead and tugs his hands out of his pockets to hold onto him. _Mine_ , she thinks.

“I’m much better now,” Regina tells him softly, sounding overly sweet. “If you want a hug, you can have one.”

Henry considers her, searching her face for the bruises that have healed and noticing her posture that’s a little hunched. “I’ll be gentle,” he says, and all Regina can do is smile as she opens her arms, allowing Henry to fold into her.

They stay like that for as long as Henry needs, and Regina is in no hurry to rush him along when she knows there’s another happy ending she needs to find once Emma drives her back to the station to face Snow.

Releasing her, Henry takes a deep breath and squeezes her hands. “I know you’re trying to be good,” he says seriously, “but I made a deal with Emma to keep _you_ safe. If Emma is clumsy and falls again, you don’t have to hurt yourself to save her.”

Emma lifts her hands in mock outrage behind Henry. Regina presses her lips together to keep from laughing, appeased now that Henry refers to Emma by her name. She says, “But a deal goes both ways. If your mother is to save me, then it’s only fair I save her too. This is what friends do.” She bops Henry’s nose, and he crinkles it on instinct.

Turning to look at Emma who quickly lowers her hands and tucks them into her pockets, Henry narrows his eyes at her. “Are you really my Mom’s friend?” he asks.

“Of course, we’re friends!” Emma argues, “why else would I use magic to save your mother from sacrificing herself?”

Regina stops breathing. Emma clamps her mouth shut, and Henry gapes at them.

“You were gonna sacrifice yourself?!” He squeaks, turning on Regina first, and she stutters as she reaches for Emma to help pull her up.

“Emma has magic!” Regina points out, throwing her friend under the bus. Because being scolded by Henry is surprisingly scary, and Regina can’t explain why her chest feels warm and full, why she’s happy despite being in this situation.

Emma chokes. “Hey!”

“And you,” Henry chides, turning on his other mother who still holds onto Regina. “What are your intentions with my mother?”

“Are we just ignoring the magic?” Regina asks, but Emma presses a hand to Regina's mouth to muffle the rest of her argument and leans down to look Henry in the eye very seriously.

She says, “I’ll keep her very happy,” and it’s a joke that Regina isn’t entirely comfortable with, even if she doesn’t know why.

Pulling out of Emma’s grasp, Regina wraps her arm around Henry and walks him out of the hospital. Emma jogs to catch up with them, but there’s still a smile on her face that Regina wants to wipe out. “I’ll be fine, Henry. And I’m sure Emma will be too.”

Sensing the shift in energy, Henry leans against her side and huffs impatiently. “I just want us to be happy again.”

Swallowing back tears, Regina pulls Henry to her and kisses his hair. “Me too,” she confesses. And there’s no reasonable explanation for why her eyes slide to Emma, catches her gaze, and holds it there for a beat too long.

…

“So, did it work?” Emma asks.

She breathes out a weak laugh, unable to hide her happiness at seeing Henry after so long. And he looked happy too, content that she’d be safe despite already having a few injuries. “Archie seems to be helping,” Regina comments, but doesn’t answer Emma’s question.

Something has shifted between them, and it isn’t a thing that Regina necessarily dislikes. But their guards are still up and they’re careful with each other like people who have been hurt before. This much Regina respects about Emma, even if the stolen house is stolen, and Emma has claimed her evenings by forcing her to eat and talk between watching bad reality television.

Those evenings might not belong to Emma anymore. And _that_ reality is surprisingly sad.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, and you won’t admit seeing Henry made you happy.”

“Was that your ploy all along?” Regina mocks. “To make me happy?”

Maybe the question hits too close to home, maybe it unlocks a chest filled with secrets, but Emma looks at her with longing, and Regina feels the ache from the other side of the car. “I just wanted to give you a reason to keep going. To remember what you’re fighting for.”

Regina clenches her jaw and turns toward the road, no longer in the mood for fun and games. She wants Henry in her full custody, where she’s not answerable to anyone. But a life like that doesn’t exist anymore, and she reminds herself that Emma is trying her best to navigate everything. To be thrown into a whole new world, it’s unthinkable.

“Blackmail,” Regina muses, and Emma perks up again like a child who has found their favourite toy. “How villainous of you.”

It’s pathetic, but Emma laughs like a Disney villain and the sound carries out into the street from the open windows.

“Was that your villain laugh?” Regina asks, amused.

Emma mocks her, then tilts her head in challenge. “You have a better one?” she dares, and Regina straightens her posture, looks at Emma with a hooded gaze, and _laughs_.

It rings through the car, low and sinful, and dangerous. Emma stares at her in wonderment.

“That explains why everyone is in love with you,” Emma mutters under her breath. Regina can’t help but be pleased.

…

Snow shakes the hat in front of her face, and Regina hopes she chooses someone easy. The last three were irritating, but solvable. If she gets Whale, Regina might cross the town line with Henry and never come back.

“Red,” Snow says when Regina hands her the page. She hesitates on the name, holding something back that she keeps clutched in her fist with Red’s name.

Regina closes her eyes to prevent an eyeroll. “What is it?”

“I don’t think you can bring back the dead,” Snow whispers in sympathy. “I think you should choose someone else.”

“There’s grief counselling and ways of finding meaning in suffering. No happy ending is entirely impossible.” Holding out her hand for the page, which is useless because Snow always keeps them, Regina goads Snow into handing over control.

“You never got over your grief.” Snow looks at her with anger even if her tone screams empathy. “We’re all here because of it.”

Emma grasps Snow’s arm and levels her with a glare so deadly, it’s a wonder Snow’s face is still intact. “It’s different with me,” Regina spits, “I lost my entire life.”

Snow jerks out of Emma’s hold. “I didn’t know being queen was such a burden that—”

“Being married to your father was a burden!” It bursts out of her, explodes over everyone in the room. Emma steps back in alarm and Snow looks at her like she has two heads. “Being your perfect stepmother was a burden. I was a child!”

She can feel her throat closing, the vein in her forehead bulging, and the tears that sting her eyes with her unsaid confessions. Snow shakes her head in disbelief, her own tears clinging to her lashes as she registers what being married to a King means. How someone as young as Regina could be paired with a man twice her age.

“No,” Snow says over a sob. “You can’t hate me for that.”

“No?” The question is uttered in a rasp, low and deadly. “If you hadn’t told,” Regina spits out, rounding on Snow who leans back to try and escape her. “If you’d only kept your mouth shut, I wouldn’t have been forced to watch my fiancé die. I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t have spent my entire married _life_ trying to live up to image of your mother. Eva _this_ , Eva _that_ , Eva, Eva, Eva!”

Snow looks at her in alarm, her eyes blown wide as she clutches the desk behind her. Regina knows she’s thrown all caution to the wind, that this curse breaking has brought out the worst of her past. It all falls from her lips like lava, coats everything in ash and soot as she reigns terror on them.

“I _hate_ —”

The page with Red’s name is handed to Emma, and Snow flees from the station before Regina can finish. She’s caused enough damage to last a lifetime.

Clutching her throat, Regina shoves Emma back when she tries to touch her. Leopold and Eva’s spawn, that’s who she’s friends with. That is who tugs her into an embrace and holds her just as tightly as she holds Henry when the world is too much for him. If Regina sobs into Emma’s shoulder, if her walls come crumbling down and she feels broken, Emma holds her steady, just like she promised she would do.

:::

They don’t speak on the drive over to Granny’s. Emma remains furious about something, and Regina feels too exposed. Still clutched in Emma’s hand, Red’s name crumples into a ball as she parks the car and gets out, leaving Regina behind to watch as she disappears inside the establishment.

Emotionally drained, and the day turning dark as the afternoon settles into evening, Regina feels her body protest the cold. She walks into Granny’s with her head held high, ignoring all the looks she gets as they stare at her state. She doesn’t look like the stoic Madame Mayor, nor the Evil Queen who wore her emotions on her sleeve. Regina knows she looks haggard, broken, and vulnerable. When she passes by a mirror, Regina gives her reflection an acidic look. How far she’s fallen.

“I told you,” Regina hears Red say from over the counter. “You can’t get me my happy ending.”

Emma sighs and leans on her arm, trying to get closer in an attempt to seduce the woman she once knew as Ruby. “Come on, Rubes. I know there must be something you want.” And she winks. _Winks_.

Regina has had enough of this charade.

“Save it,” she barks. “Red has been in love with your mother for years.”

Like a kicked puppy, Emma backs away and stands behind Regina with shock.

Red shrugs at Emma. “Sorry, Kiddo.”

“ _Kiddo_? Which part of me looks like a child?” Regina takes Emma’s vacated seat and glances over her shoulder to provide Emma with a fitting reply. “Don’t answer that,” Emma says, pointing at her.

Red glances between them, and Regina sees a flash of Ruby when she grins at Emma wolfishly. “Are you two friends now?” she asks, and Emma blushes a deep shade of pink.

“That’s none of your concern,” Regina snaps, suddenly possessive. “What is your concern,” she soothes, laying her hands on the counter in a show of amity, “is telling us how to restore your happy ending.”

The rest of the diner watches Regina closely, takes note of how she approaches Red like a friend. Red juts out her jaw and inhales through her mouth, like speaking of it might be a crime. “You can’t give me my happy ending,” she tells Regina.

Emma gestures at Red and looks to Regina as if to say, _see?_

Grabbing Emma’s arm to sit her down, Regina tries again. “Why not?’ she asks, because if they find the reason, they can fix each aspect until Red is happy. But all Red does is scoff to herself and reset the bottles lining the shelf.

“You can’t bring back the curse,” she mumbles over her shoulder, “you can’t make me forget, you can’t stop a full moon.”

Her posture straightens as she listens to Red, and Emma mirrors her out of habit. “No,” Regina agrees, because she can’t do all those things at once, but she can bring back aspects of it. “I can make you a memory potion, I can give you an amulet, so you wouldn’t change every full moon. There’s…so many solutions.”

Red turns to face them again, this time with a bottle of vodka in her hand. “You can’t make everyone forget. And even if you did, magic always comes with a price. It was nice while it lasted. I lived a normal life, with normal problems, and I wasn’t the girl who ate her boyfriend or fell in love with her straight best friend.” The smile Red gives them is devastatingly beautiful, and it cuts Regina into pieces.

“You’re right,” Emma whispers, watching Red pour herself a shot. “We can’t make everyone forget, but there must be something more you want?”

“Honestly,” Red says, holding up the glass to her lips, “I’d be really fucking happy if we didn’t have magic in this town anymore.” And she drinks, then slams the glass down on the counter like she’s sure Regina will fail.

:::

Old grievances infuse with the new, and Emma is worse off for it. She’s agitated, distant, and cold. If Regina didn’t know any better, she’d have thought Emma was the one who exposed her secrets about an abusive marriage to Snow, who let her emotions get the better of her, and cried into her friend’s shoulder.

That last one makes Regina cringe, but she brushes the feeling aside and taps on Emma’s window when the woman doesn’t make a move. “Are you coming or not?”

Emma squeezes the steering wheel when she looks up at Regina, like she’s finally made up her mind about whatever has been bothering her. She gets out of the car, the morning sun illuminating the dark circles under her eyes and the dullness of her hair that hangs limply over her shoulders. Emma says, “She’s not wrong.”

“Red?"

“Yeah, about your curse.” And it shouldn’t be like this, with Emma praising her for tasks done with malicious intent; where focusing on that instead of the truths Regina exposed yesterday hurts a little less.

She cuts her hand through the air for Emma to stop and doesn’t censor her expression of irritation until it’s too late. This is the second time they’re visiting her vault, and her father must be turning in his grave to know that it’s taken her too long to become good—if anyone can call themselves that. Her hands slip when she pushes on his tomb, but Emma grabs her arm to steady her, and silently aids her until the staircase is visible in the dark crypt.

Dust lines the stairs, and there are cracks along the edges of the walls from the last magical attack, but other than a few broken bottles and a fallen shelf, the vault is still in a workable condition. “Grab a broom,” she tells Emma, and starts rolling up her sleeves to get to work. There’s a bunch of brooms in the far corner, one of which Emma reaches for. “Not that one,” Regina chides, pointing out the broom closet, where all non-magical cleaning supplies stay.

“You could just use magic,” Emma complains.

She’s kneeling by the pile of books they had been looking through earlier when she hears Emma. “Why don’t _you_ use magic,” Regina shoots back.

With a broom in hand, Emma aggressively starts sweeping the stairs. “I’ll tell you why when you tell me why you won’t talk about what Ruby said.”

Sighing, Regina stretches to retrieve a bucket and a cloth, already knowing Emma’s eyes are on her neck that strains with the effort. “We’re in my vault,” she breathes, pushing on her knees to stand up, “here to help Red with her happy ending. What aren’t I talking about that I won’t be solving shortly?”

Emma’s gaze follows her until Regina disappears from her sight into the small bathroom. “Uh, how about the fact that her happy ending is about all the good your curse has done?” Opening the tap, Regina drowns out Emma’s next words as she fills the bucket with water and adds in detergent. She’ll have to wipe everything clean from all the dust. Her back aches just thinking about it.

Emerging from the bathroom, Regina finds Emma leaning against the wall, watching her carefully. “The floor isn’t going to sweep itself,” she tells Emma, and walks past her like there was never a question to be answered or more important topics to be discussed.

“It was better _before_.” Emma’s words stop Regina in her tracks. “Life made sense, consequences followed a certain rule, and there were definitely no shortcuts.”

Setting the bucket down, Regina grabs the broom from Emma’s hands and does the work herself. “Magic is not a shortcut,” she grunts, sweeping the ceiling free from any dust that might fall on them later. One speck of it in a potion, and who knows what disaster that could cause.

Emma coughs and moves to stand behind her. “I didn’t say it was. Just that…a deal with the Dark One, and you can have your wishes. Rub this magic lamp, wave that wand, visit this fairy. Life isn’t like that!”

The ceiling swept, Regina shakes out the broom and leans on it when her muscles begin to burn. She hasn’t had this much activity in a while, and it shows. Emma gently eases the broom from her grip however, and poises it to sweep the rest of the floor.

“I had all those miracles and look where that got me.” She's tired, burnt out from the last month where her entire sentence was based on a magical ailment she caused. And now Red wants it gone, erased like everyone's suffering doesn't exist. She shrugs off her coat and tosses it atop Emma's jacket that lies on a dusty chest. 

She continues, “Magic always comes with—don’t sweep the floors, sweep the walls first. Where is all that dust going to go if we have another tremor?” Emma glares at her but does as she's told. “Like I was saying,” Regina drawls, “magic always comes with a price. But that isn’t to say it can’t do good.”

Snorting at Regina’s obvious deflection, Emma sets the broom down to tie her hair up in a bun. Regina watches the movement with rapt attention, ashamed that she finds the simple task so breath-taking. Emma sighs and takes up the broom again, brushing down the flakes of dirt that come away from the cracks in the walls. “Can’t you see,” she says, sounding almost desperate, “there are some people who benefited from your curse? That Ruby was happier being Ruby than she ever was being Red.”

Watching Emma finish her task, Regina presses a hand over her stomach as she comes to terms with the consequences of her actions. Emma turns to her with a pleased smile at a job well done, but Regina says, “You…didn’t benefit,” and doesn’t bother to hide the pain in her voice.

That wipes the smile off Emma’s face faster than anything Regina has ever said.

Sweeping the floor to avoid Regina's eyes, Emma rounds up the broken glass and dirt, cleans the square around her with too much concentration. Eventually, when Emma stops, she looks up at Regina with resignation. “It’s all I’ve ever known,” she admits in a whisper.

She says, “I’m sorry,” in a tone barely above a whisper. Because all of this is her fault, and if this curse hadn’t been cast, Emma would be an entirely different person.

Releasing a shaky breath, Emma looks at her with a burning gaze. “I’m sorry too,” she whispers. Empathetic, and so goddamn understanding. Regina turns away to busy herself with something else, unwilling to cry on Emma’s shoulder again.

They clean in silence for a while, providing each other with comfort the best way they know how. Once the mundane tasks grate down on their sorrow, when their anger simmers down to a dying ember, that is when Emma looks her way, holds her gaze with a small smile.

“You know you’re going to sweep again, right?” Emma teases.

“I am aware,” Regina sighs. “I don’t have to clean everything today, but I’d like it to be a clear space before I search for Red’s spells.”

Emma wipes a shelf and stacks the clean books Regina hands to her. Their fingers linger over each other, apologetic and wanting, a touch that Regina allows if only because she feels a little less alone.

“So, you’re not getting rid of magic?” Disappointed, that’s what Emma sounds like. She wants her life to go back to normal and thinks by taking away magic that she’ll get her best friend back in trade for her mother.

Regina stands from where she’s crouched and stretches. “If I make Red that amulet, if I brew a forgetting potion for her and make Archie it’s keeper, I’ll know she’s moving through her grief and coming to terms with her werewolf. Destroying magic is a temporary fix. True happiness comes from within.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Emma mutters. “You wouldn’t have cast this curse. You wouldn’t be hanging onto Henry, and you certainly wouldn’t be holding a grudge—”

Regina bares her teeth in anger. “You’re one to talk! You cling to the idea of a life before the curse because it’s _comfortable_. You’ve made peace with being a mother, the sheriff, an orphan.”

Emma flinches at the insult of her truth.

This is the downside of being friends, where they know each other too well, know which buttons to push and what leaves them bruised, and aching, and furious.

Regina watches Emma closely, stands her ground as Emma invades her personal space. “What do you want from me, hmm?” Emma asks, sounding like a whore in need of cash.

“Oh no,” Regina whispers, leaning in just a little. Their noses brush, and it’s warning enough for Emma to stumble back as Regina advances. “The real question is what do you want from _me_?”

Because Emma keeps harping on about what good this curse has done, how life made sense before. But she never speaks about her magic, or her parents, or how this entire town seems to function like the old world.

Submitting to her role as the messenger, Regina says, “I cast a curse. Your parents sent you away to save you. You had a rough life, was dragged back to me by fate, and now,” she breathes, smiling when Emma's back hits the wall and there's nowhere for her to run, “the curse is broken. Magic has returned, and it’s _different_ here. I can’t magic my way out of a paper bag if I tried, but you?” Regina laughs. “You closed the barrier between worlds—”

“That wasn’t me! That was all you.”

“Yes,” she hisses, leaning in too close, angry again despite herself. “Because I was doing _so_ well before you stepped inside that ring of death with me.”

Emma growls, a low whimpering sound that begs Regina to stop. “I don’t want magic. I don’t want my best friend to be my mother. I don’t want anything to change, don’t you get it?!”

“Of course, I do!” Regina exclaims. “But these things happen, and it must be accepted. Because if you don’t…you might end up like _me_.”

Laughter, loud and mocking. Emma presses her hand against Regina's stomach and can’t control herself, won’t hold anything together as it spills out in waves of emotion and magic. Regina can smell it; can feel the way it caresses her skin and begs for release. “Don’t you get it?” Emma says with tears streaming down her face from the shock of Regina's honesty. “You’re the only one who hasn’t changed. You’re the only one I can trust—and they _hate_ me for it.”

It sounds like something else. Something sacred. A feeling long buried, its heart cut out and crushed.

“Emma…”

“No,” Emma says sharply, and Regina pauses. “You don’t get to look at me like that.”

She wipes her face clean of any expression, but the ache of _something_ is still there. Magic, potent and pure, fills the vault, heals the cracks in the walls and removes the dust from their clothes. When Regina finally gathers enough courage to reach out and touch Emma’s hand that's still pressed against her stomach, all the broken glass and discarded books are repaired and set neatly back in their places.

“If you trust me,” Regina breathes, smoothing her hands down Emma's arms, holding her steady, “then you will listen to me.” Regina takes a deep breath, letting her anger subside as she holds onto this moment. “You cannot hide your magic. Look at what it’s done already.”

Emma glances around the space, her eyes growing wider the longer she looks. Regina braces her against the wall, keeps her stable as the price is asked. Emma falters as her energy is zapped, and Regina tugs her close as she lowers them onto the floor as gently as she can.

Holding onto Regina’s shoulders, Emma attempts to run, to hide her crumpling features that tells Regina she doesn't think she deserves this kindness. Regina knows the feeling too well. “I don’t like it,” she says in a cracked whisper. “I feel everything. _All_. _the_. _time_. Things I don’t want to think about, things I don’t want to talk about—and here I am, with _you_ , and everything is spilling out.” She squeezes her eyes shut, looking distraught.

Regina remembers how it had been for her too. But anger and contempt looked very different from this. “Magic is emotion,” Regina explains softly, swallowing thickly when she knows all their actions will have words attached to them now. That nothing is hidden anymore. “Everything you’ve buried is fuelling it.”

Emma leans into her, their foreheads resting together as if such contact might give Emma strength. She admits in a murmur, “It’s not only me. I felt it, I felt _yours_ too.”

Surprised, Regina pushes back to search Emma's face, to see the lies that aren't there anymore. She had felt Emma’s magic, had commanded it, but she hadn’t thought that Emma could feel hers too. Was that why Emma was so afraid of her before?

“And what,” she clears her throat, “what did it feel like?”

It’s a dangerous question, and they should not be talking about this. Not with their bodies pressed against each other with the promise of all the things they've been too afraid to admit, with Emma so open and wanting, her lips a ghost of a touch away. But they've always run toward danger, and Emma leaps into the fire when she whimpers an answer that makes Regina _hot_. 

“It felt like,” Emma gasps, pressing toward Regina only to rock back, “I wasn’t lonely anymore. Like everything I ever wanted was at my fingertips. That I was as powerful as you said.” Her shirt is bunched up in Emma's grip, tugging her closer to the pleasure of Emma's kiss. “That,” Emma rasps against her, their lips brushing against each other, “I was wanted.”

There is no hiding anymore, and Regina is tired, so tired. Over a month of finding happy endings together, and yet they have no sight of their own. So, what if they build an ill-fitting puzzle, try to match pieces that obviously don’t go together. At least then, loneliness won’t be a constant companion. 

“You _are_ want—"

Stolen, her words muffle against Emma's lips that claim her with desperation. Emma tastes like her magic. Her kiss feels soft and insistent, demanding that Regina hold nothing back. Like a tide, Emma becomes fiercer, kissing Regina with such passion that there’s hardly any time to breathe. Regina's magic sparks, igniting behind her skin with such force that she gasps against Emma, clutches her closer as her magic crawls into the crevices of her body and warms the places this land has turned cold.

Hands slide into her hair and tug her closer, and Emma almost straddles her lap before Regina disconnects their lips with a low moan. She aches, burns low in her abdomen where she should never feel things for the Saviour, but emotions are never predictable, especially ones that have been festering for months now.

Emma holds her close for a minute, reconnecting their lips for a second kiss that's lazy and slow, the calm after the storm. 

“Emma,” Regina says, pulling her closer for more, greedy and selfish and all the things that belong to magic as dark as hers. 

But Emma's hands slide from Regina’s hair and she bumps back into the wall, horrified. “I’m sorry,” she says roughly, her eyes wide with fear. “It was a mistake, I didn’t mean—” And Emma stands on unsteady feet, her hand pressed to her mouth as she looks down at Regina like she's committed a sin. 

Whatever it is that she’s thinking, Regina hasn’t got the heart to know. “It’s okay,” she says, and lies and lies and _lies_. 

When Emma escapes the vault with a hacking sob, Regina picks herself off the floor and licks her kiss-swollen lips. Rejection stings her like a whip, searing into her skin as she forces all her doubt away. Of course, she's not good enough for the Saviour, she's not pure enough, not—

Some things, Regina thinks as she grabs the spell books she needs, are better left to dwell in fantasies. Saviours and Evil Queens, that's who they are. And when she flicks her fingers with rage bubbling in her stomach, her stubborn magic sparks a weak flame that mocks her for thinking Emma could be a replacement for this power. 


	6. Pining idiots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: NSFW

The three books she brought with her are all laid out on the kitchen counter. She’s on her second cup of coffee and can’t stop looking at the spell that haunts her.

Better off for it, Emma had said about her curse. And Regina wonders if she really meant it. With the curse broken, the unexplained is explained, Emma has a family, people are getting their loved ones back, and time is moving again.

She could, if she wanted, end it all.

“Uh, hey,” she hears, and startles at the sound, her hand covering the spell out of instinct. David stands in the doorway with his hands on his hips and an apologetic look on his face. “Delivery,” he says, and walks further into the kitchen to set down a bag with more food. The sight of it makes Regina sigh.

“I don’t want to eat this,” she says, and pushes the plastic bag away from her. The stench of oil makes her stomach roil. “I want to cook something _healthy_ ,” she stresses, “I don’t want deliveries from Granny’s every day when for all I know it could be poisoned.”

Anger from Emma’s rejection spills onto her father, and David looks at her with wide eyes and swallows thickly like he knows this isn’t meant for him. “Okay,” he tries, placating her with his calm tone. “What will make you happy?”

…

“What’s the difference between whole peeled tomatoes and diced tomatoes in onions?” David holds up two cans in his hand, and Regina prevents herself from smashing her head into the nearest wall.

If Emma really wanted to avoid her, she shouldn’t have sent her father who is exactly like her.

“Consistency,” Regina answers, knowing better than to snap. “And obviously, David, one has onions, one doesn’t.”

He weighs the cans in his hand and delicately puts both in her trolley. “What?” he asks at her glare, “I want to see how they taste.”

Regina can’t help the feeling of fondness, and not because this is something Emma will do. But because David walks with her through the aisles of the grocery store and doesn’t bring up happy endings or Snow’s hurt. Whatever anger and resentment he felt toward her seems to be locked away for now, hidden behind a barrier that separates the Enchanted Forest from Storybrooke.

“Can you hand me that bag of rice?”

David wordlessly picks up the bag and sets it in the trolley, rearranging the rest of the items to prevent it from being damaged. “Anything else?” he asks, and Regina tries to keep a neutral expression as she pushes the trolley down the sweet aisle.

If he hides his laughter with a cough, then Regina doesn’t think much of it as she grabs a few chocolate bars and the chips she knows Emma likes. “Don’t act like you don’t want anything,” she throws over her shoulder, and a bag of gummy worms slides into the trolley as David walks past like nothing happened.

The next stop is where David crosses his arms and glances around like a fish out of water. “I can wait in another aisle.”

“You have a daughter,” she says drily, “and a wife. Educate yourself.”

Grabbing whatever she needs, Regina makes sure to get a new bottle of lotion, so she doesn’t smell like Emma anymore, and a new roll of floss. Done for the day, Regina pushes the trolley into the queue for the cashier and rests her elbows on the handle. She’ll get to finally use the kitchen for something other than coffee, and maybe, if all goes well, Henry can come over for a meal.

“Hello.”

Turning, Regina comes face to face with Kathryn. “Princess Abigail,” she greets stiffly, trying too hard to keep a smile on her face.

The last time they had met, things hadn’t been very amicable between them. Regina had gotten Kathryn kidnapped, used her as a pawn to frame Mary Margaret in a very elaborate plot for revenge. If it didn’t hurt so many people, Regina would be prouder of it.

“It’s Kathryn, please.” A hand settles gently on her arm, and Regina looks down with a tinge of fear. David is nowhere to be found, and if she screams for help, that will give off an image of weakness she will never tolerate.

Instead, Regina softens her smile and pats Kathryn’s hand. “Glad to see you’re doing better.” Because she will not apologise again, not when she knows Kathryn will never forgive her.

“Yes,” Kathryn gushes, “it’s been so good having Fred back. And there’s no pressure to get married or have our titles matched. It’s…” she takes in a deep breath, beaming at Regina like she’s a friend. “Freeing,” she finishes, and Regina gapes at her. “I was thinking maybe we could have lunch together some time. Catch up.”

“You want to be friends? After everything?”

Kathryn’s exuberant smile dims. “I’d like us to start over. The curse wasn’t all that bad—except the unhappiness part and being married to David.” She leans into Regina as she giggles, “he was so _boring_.”

And Regina can’t help herself, can’t contain the laughter that bubbles up from her chest and spills out into the store.

“Hey,” David says breathlessly, sounding far too protective. “Is there anything I need to be concerned about here?”

Regina and Kathryn turn to David who has his hands full of sanitary pads and tampons. Kathryn raises an eyebrow at him, her hand still clutching Regina’s as she giggles. “I’d say so,” she laughs, and Regina doubles over at his expense, carefree and light.

…

They pack away the groceries with idle chit-chat, and Regina finds that David’s company isn’t so bad when Snow doesn’t overshadow him. “Do you need anything else?” he asks, gesturing to the books that they’ve pushed aside for now.

“I think Emma will be better suited for the job. I’ll start going through it when she arrives.”

David clears his throat and wipes the counter free from any condensation. He says, “She was upset yesterday.” And they tip-toe around the topic like two uncertain swords.

Closing the cupboards and filling the kettle with water to boil, Regina pulls out a plate and cuts into the scones she snagged from the bakery. “It was a hard day,” she answers, but doesn’t go into any more detail as she butters each side of the scone with too much aggression.

“If you hurt her,” he says, towering over Regina who looks up at him with steel in her gaze. “I will kill you.”

“And if she hurts me?”

At that, David falters. He must see the rejection in her eyes, how she’s content to let Emma love her but not in the way that might make sense. Clutching her shoulder, David doesn’t ask as he pulls her into an embrace, engulfing her stiff body into the type of affection that feels like something from a lifetime ago.

She closes her eyes briefly, thinks of all the times her father used to comfort her, and she sends him a silent apology. When she pulls back, David steps away as if embarrassed, that he too looks at Regina with awe and can’t escape loving her no matter how hard he tries.

There are no goodbyes, and Regina doesn’t offer him a scone or tea even if the kettle clicks off behind her. Some things are better left alone.

:::

The spell mocks her, what with faded ink in her script translating each symbol. One of the first spells Gold taught her, when his name used to be Rumple and his giggles haunted her almost as much as his silence does now. _To have, one must know what they can lose, dearie_.

So many things she can lose, and half of them she’s only just gained. Clutching the page between her fingers, Regina tears it out of the book carefully. She intends to burn it, to destroy it before anyone can get their hands on it, but for the second time today, the front door bangs open and Regina jumps in her seat.

“Could you people knock?!” she yells, stuffing the page in her trouser pocket.

Emma stands with her hands outstretched, hurt by far more than Regina’s outburst. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“Where are we with Red?” Snow interrupts, no patience today for whatever look Regina gives Emma. She’s agitated and on edge, too much energy in a small frame that must be tired of all the paperwork on her desk and no action.

Standing from her seat, Regina closes the spell book and goes into the kitchen to switch on the kettle. “Tea? Coffee?” she asks, like a queen who has received guests and went shopping for whenever anyone barges in like this.

“Regina,” Snow snaps, “we’re not here for a social call. I need to know what you’re doing for Red.”

Emma slides in after her and takes a seat at the counter. “I’ll have a coffee, please,” she says, and shrugs when her mother turns to her with a glare. “And is that peanut butter biscuits?”

“It is,” she answers with a small smile. “Your father took me grocery shopping this morning.” She throws in that last bit to Snow who blanches, like one of her own has betrayed her yet again. Emma, however, doesn’t flinch when Regina refers to David as her father, and she wonders if the Saviour has taken her advice and is seeing Archie yet.

Three coffees are made, set beside a plate of biscuits, and Regina carries them to the counter to where Snow has sat down next to Emma.

“She wants to get rid of magic.”

The biscuit crumbles in Snow’s hand. “If you get rid of magic, how is anyone supposed to go back to the Enchanted Forest?”

Regina looks at Emma who chews slowly and avoids any eye contact with her. If there is no magic, Emma will be happy that they can never go back, that her life remains the same it always was. But Snow has only known the Enchanted forest, a place where she was doted and had people to do her paperwork for her. She’s drowning here.

“How sure are you that everyone wants to go back?” Regina asks, taking a sip of her coffee. She doesn’t look at Emma, but she can see how her muscles stiffen at the question.

Pushing her cup away, Snow looks down at her hands where they clutch the counter and shakes her head in disbelief. “It’s our home, why would anyone not want to go back?”

“Maybe,” Emma bites out, “the Enchanted Forest isn’t everyone’s home. Maybe, people are happier here with indoor plumbing and freedom to choose who they love.” Sitting up straight, Emma glares at her mother like a simple look might make Snow understand. But Snow won’t give up on her dream of leaving, and neither will she allow her daughter to be left behind.

“I told you.” Snow turns to Regina, conveying too many things in a hidden sentence. “Red’s happy ending isn’t possible.” _Loving Regina never ends well_. She understands it now, with Emma who will fight too hard for a woman who shouldn’t matter. Pushing back from the counter, Snow straightens her shirt and wipes her hands down on her jeans. “We’re leaving, Emma. There are no happy endings to be found today.”

Emma doesn’t move. She grabs another biscuit and dunks it in her coffee. “No, that’s okay, Mary Margaret. I’ll stay here, you can take the car.” Tossing the keys to Snow who reflexively catches it, Regina watches as something between Emma and Snow breaks.

“Emma…”

“No,” she tells Regina, stopping her in her tracks. “You said it yourself. That there are many solutions to Red’s problems. We can find the appropriate spells and then give her the happy ending she deserves.” The biscuit breaks in Emma’s coffee and she scoffs at the mess she’s made. Regina pulls open the drawer nearest to her and hands Emma a teaspoon to fish out the biscuit.

Snow approaches her, laying a hand on Emma’s shoulder to tug her along. “You can’t help Regina. You don’t have magic, and most of the spells aren’t written in English.”

“I have magic.”

“What?” Snow asks, leaning in closer to better hear Emma’s whispered confession.

Regina backs away, wondering why she must always find herself in the middle of Emma and Snow’s messes. Can’t she have a moment of peace and let Emma tell her about it later? Cursing her karma, Regina winces when Emma shrugs Snow off her. “I said,” she grits out, “I have magic. I used it that day when Regina saved the town. I used it for _her_.”

Oh fuck. Oh no.

Snow looks at Regina with all the fury of a mother and queen, and Regina steps back into the kitchen cabinet with a wince. They never admit such things, never say what their actions already speak of; and to have it out in the open after a kiss that Emma said was a mistake—how could it come to this?

“You.” Snow approaches her with red-rimmed eyes and the crouched posture of someone ready to attack.

Like the Evil Queen who has faced this nemesis before, Regina straightens her spine and tilts her chin up, a smirk adorning her lips like feeling for Emma doesn’t make her ache. She makes to say something scathing, but Emma positions herself between them and cuts each other off from another fight.

“Leave.”

Maybe, it’s the tone of Emma’s voice, or maybe, it’s the knowledge that if she pushes, Snow will bear witness to another confession no one in this room is ready to hear, that she silently backs away and leaves them to their own devices.

When the door clicks shut, Regina breathes out a sigh of relief and leans against the cabinet. “You need to stop defending me.”

“Why?” Emma asks, turning toward her with a challenge in her words.

Regina tries not to laugh, not to have the same breakdown as Emma before everything spilled out. Her magic is stronger now, more demanding than it’s ever been for years. But Emma won’t understand, won’t see that everything they’ve been doing has a boiling point. She pushes back from the cabinet and goes to clear up the tray on the counter, but Emma steps in her way.

She asks again, “Why?”

“Because!” Regina snaps. “You don’t get to kiss me and pretend it meant nothing! Not after _that_.”

Emma steps back in alarm. There’s nothing she can say, nothing she can do to amend an already broken situation. She’s had Regina to herself for weeks, and yet all she can do is stand there uselessly, like she’s never met the woman Regina is now.

Scoffing, Regina bypasses Emma and clears away the things on the tray, taking Emma’s biscuits and half full cup to silently dismiss her. You are not welcome anymore, she says with her actions, but Emma refuses it even as she watches her cup get rinsed out and packed away.

“What’s important,” Emma says after too long, like she’s thought this out too carefully. “Is Henry, and his health. When it comes to us, we have to be what he needs.”

Wiping her hands clean, Regina tosses the dishtowel on the counter and makes her way into the lounge where her spell books are all laid out. “Hiding behind Henry,” she mutters under her breath, “typical.”

“I’m not hiding behind him. I’m doing what’s best for our son.”

“Like your parents did?” she asks with acid in her mouth. “For all the reasons you can’t forgive them, you expect us to follow their example?”

Emma shakes her head like it might dislodge the thought Regina has put there. “There is no curse—”

She interrupts Emma’s excuses with a hissed out, “Yes!” Her hands are outstretched, her posture becomes defensive as she rounds on Emma like a woman looking for a fight. “Because you broke it. You broke my curse and you refuse to pay the price for it.”

“What?” Emma asks in a shout, furious and hurting. “What price is there left to pay? I’ve been paying for this my entire life, and now that I’m here everyone keeps calling me ‘The Saviour’. They want me to give back happy endings when I wasn’t even the one who took it away in the first place!”

“And I’ve been here every day since, trying to redeem myself. For Henry, for _you_ —all because you kept telling me to fight, that fate didn’t define us.” She throws her hands in the air, dramatic and enraged.

Emma catches her arm, pulls her too close for a woman who believes a desperate kiss was nothing but that. She says, “I don’t want to fight with you. I just want everything to go back to normal.”

There’s pity there for Emma somewhere, but Regina can’t find it behind a haze of emotion that begs her magic to be set free. She has a page in her pocket that can give Emma her happiness, but what about hers? “And what do I get?” she asks, “Who gives me my happy ending?”

Selfish, starved, desperate for something that can never be hers. Regina watches everything crumble before her when she sets a burden on Emma’s shoulders, asking for far too much.

“I’m the Saviour,” Emma whispers pathetically, like she’s given up everything already. “I’ll find you—”

“Stop.” Pulling her arm from Emma’s grasp, Regina runs her hands through her hair and takes a seat on the couch. She can feel her magic bubbling under her skin, stubborn and new despite being an old friend. It would be easy to flick her fingers and make everything better, but would Emma still want her after the effects of a love spell wears out?

The couch sinks beside her with Emma’s weight. Regina looks at her warily, watches as she sighs and rubs her hands over her denim clad knees. “No one listens,” she breathes, and Regina remains silent as Emma speaks. “I keep telling them that my life was hard, that I went through those horrible things, and all they can say is that they did what was best for me. I don’t care about their reasons, I don’t care that I would have died, that everything that has happened was destiny. I want them to acknowledge that—that…”

Emma drops her head into her hands, her elbows resting on her thighs. She breathes in deeply and exhales just as harshly. Regina tentatively places a hand on her back. “I just want them to say sorry, to tell me that everything is going to be fine. That whatever has happened, and whatever will happen, that they’ll be there for me. But _they_ didn’t—” She pauses, and Regina feels her shallow breaths under her palm.

When Emma looks up at her with a gaze filled with awe, Regina knows that this isn’t because it’s passed down from Snow White. Emma looks at her like Regina has been the only constant, the only one who will hold her hand and encourage her magic, who will laugh along with her and snap at her when she steps out of line. Emma looks at her with love, and maybe Snow is right, this won’t end well.

They stare at each other for too long, and Regina stills beside Emma as if not to frighten a wild animal. Emma sees her shock and surprise, pulls the shutters down to protect herself once more. When she stands, ready to leave like she always does, Regina holds onto her hand to stop her.

“Nothing has changed, Miss Swan. We still fight over Henry, I still hate Mary Margaret, and you’re still a pain in my arse.” Emma breathes out a chuckle at that, her fingers gripping onto Regina’s like a lifeline. “Stay. Maybe we’ll fight some more.”

It’s a lie wrapped up as a happy ending, but Emma is touched by it, nonetheless. She tugs on Regina’s hand until they’re both standing, and this is where Regina sees how Emma holds back tears, how everything has been beating against her and wearing her down. Had there not been too many sacrifices and promises between them, Regina would have never done what she does now.

Her arms open to pull Emma into an embrace, offering her the comfort and support David had given her only this morning. “It’s going to be okay,” she tells Emma, rubbing her back in much the same way she did for Henry. “I'm here.”

Emma clutches onto her, fists Regina’s shirt in her hands and squeezes too tightly. She crumbles much like the last time they were in this position, only there’s no magic to blame when it’s made itself known and settled in Emma’s veins like it was always there. Regina feels the tickle of Emma’s nose against her neck, the warmth of her body as she presses too close, and they hang on the precipice of something more.

“Thank you,” Emma whispers against her ear, and then moves away like there was never heat between them to begin with.

Regina mourns the loss. Her hands slide down to rest against her side as she watches Emma step backwards toward the door. Their eyes never leave each other however, and what Regina thought was heat lingers as warmth, a familiarity that comes from _Hi_ , and _You’re_ _Henry’s_ _birthmother?_

Destiny, climbing to the point where the Saviour must defeat the Evil Queen. And Emma, tugged along by the thread, with as much power as Henry to shatter her says, “It never meant nothing.” She holds them in stasis, orbiting each other as they drift closer together. Emma adds in a whisper that cracks the tension between them, “Not with _you_.”

Three steps, brisk and thoughtless, and Regina has Emma’s jacket clutched in her hands. She brings her lips down on Emma’s, kisses her with all the tenderness of their words unsaid.

It’s fast, and messy, and Emma kisses back with fervour, clutching onto her back to pull her into an embrace that combines them as one. Regina doesn’t care for anything else, doesn’t feel beyond Emma’s breath on her cheek and her tongue that slides into her mouth. Tasting, taking, taunting.

Her shirt is pulled out from her trousers, tugged up over her arms and thrown across the room. Their lips separate for a moment, then come back at Emma’s demand as Regina pushes her jacket off her shoulders. They stumble backwards, tripping over their feet as their hands work too quickly on each other. Jeans unzipped, shirts unbuttoned, and shoes toed off as Emma leads them further into the house, to the door that Regina doesn’t open out of respect.

Regina thinks she might implode, that kissing Emma Swan is an experience all on its own, but this, where Emma presses her against the nearest wall and consumes her, drags her fingers over damp fabric and presses down with a promise—this is torture.

“Don’t you dare tease me.”

Pressing down a little harder over her pants, Emma rocks her hips into Regina and kisses down to her jaw, takes an earlobe into her mouth and bites down playfully on it. “This is payback, Madame Mayor.”

The sound of her old title makes her quiver. Regina moans as Emma kisses her neck, rocks harder against Emma's touch like she still might be in control. “You forget,” Regina breathes, sliding her hand down to Emma’s unbuttoned jeans, under damp fabric and between slick folds until she pushes into Emma with an answering gasp. “I play dirty.”

Moaning, Emma clutches Regina's wrist to still her, but Regina thrusts into her like stopping might kill them both. They’re too far gone, and Emma grinds down into her hand with every ounce of pretence stripped from her. She braces herself against the wall, leaning against Regina who swallows her moans with languid kisses that oppose the pace she sets with her fingers.

When Emma tenses, her thighs quivering against Regina’s own, she comes with a stuttering gasp against Regina’s lips. Emma guides her hand into slowing down, to prolong the pleasure that Regina willingly extends.

“Unfair,” Emma rasps.

“Are you surprised?”

With a smile, Emma exhales against Regina’s jaw and pushes her bra off her shoulders. She kisses the exposed skin like someone who isn’t aching for release, who is content to let Regina squirm as she’s pulled from the wall and walked toward the bedroom. 

The roughness that encased Emma’s actions is nowhere to be seen. She touches Regina tenderly, strokes her skin like she’s something to be savoured, and kisses the places where her hands linger like a prayer. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” she breathes, but Regina doesn’t get to answer, doesn’t have the privilege to say anything when Emma claims her lips again and steals the air from her lungs.

Gently, like a feather floating down to the ground, Emma lays her on the bed and follows after, taking her time to kiss her way down Regina’s body that burns with want. A moan rumbles from her chest, low and throaty, and Emma laughs against her skin as she unclasps Regina’s bra.

She’s too slow, too eager to tease. And Regina growls as she flips them over, ignoring the twinge in her side from the action. Tossing her bra aside, Regina unzips her trousers and pulls it down with her underwear, letting it be kicked off the bed by Emma who sits up and takes a stiff nipple into her mouth. Naked, and at the whims of a Saviour who is destined to destroy her, Regina thinks death might come for her like this, with Emma’s fingers that skim over her folds and her mouth leaving hickeys on her chest.

Following Emma’s fingers, seeking friction she so desperately needs, Regina rewards Emma with a low, “ _Ohh_ ,” once those fingers find their way inside her. It’s been too long since she shared a bed with anyone else, and her muscles coil with tension as she tries too hard to remain polite even in a situation like this.

Cool fingers skim up her spine, and Emma licks a path up her neck to nip at her jaw. “Don’t,” she whispers, “don’t hold back.”

Like the gates of a dam have been opened, Regina shoves Emma back into the bed like they’re enemies again, anger and hatred and sin. She leans down to kiss her in apology, but it doesn’t last very long when Emma meets her pace, allowing her free hand to roam Regina’s body like she owns it.

“Fuck me like you mean it.” A dare purred out in the Evil Queen’s voice. Regina cackles as she rolls her hips into Emma’s fingers, keeping her wrist trapped between their bodies as she claims her pleasure for herself. But Emma is nothing if not an equal, and Regina gasps when she’s lifted by her thighs and is made to kneel over Emma.

She says, “Better hold on, Madame Mayor,” then lifts her head up to lick Regina with a firm stroke. The surprise of it, the submission that Regina finds herself surrendering to is intense. Without thought, she clutches the headboard in front of her and reaches down to pull Emma further into her.

Two fingers find their home inside her again, and Emma sucks on her clit like she has every intention of stealing her thoughts, of leaving her gasping for air as Regina grinds her hips down into Emma’s face. Demanding and selfish, with sounds pulling from her lips that she hasn’t made in years, Regina’s thighs quake as she arches her back, giving Emma a show.

A moan vibrates against her, and when Regina twists to see its cause, she finds Emma’s hand between her legs, her jeans hastily pushed down to make room for her spread knees. The sight of it, the knowledge that Emma pleasures herself because of this—because she’s naked, and writhing, and clutching onto the headboard too tight—it sends Regina spiralling.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head, her hips push down on Emma in short, jerky thrusts, and the heat that builds at the base of her spine crawls up to her head until all she feels and sees is heat. Magic, dark, light, a rainbow of colours that explode behind her eyes as she _screams_.

And then, everything goes black.

…

“Hey there.”

The voice feels far away, and the image of someone blurs in and out as Regina regains her sense of self. “How long?” she asks, embarrassed.

Emma sleeps under a sheet with her head propped up on her elbow, her hair a tangled mess, and a serene expression on her face. She smirks, too wide and smug. “A few minutes.”

Throwing her arm over her face, Regina pulls the sheet from Emma to cover herself. Her body feels spent, and sore, and deliciously fucked. Emma scoots closer to press a kiss to her cheek, her hands already mapping out the parts of her body that hadn’t gotten enough attention.

“Who knew,” she chuckles, “the former mayor is a screamer.”

Turning sharply toward Emma, Regina twists her lips into a sneer. “I am _not_.”

“Are too.” A hand cups her breast, squeezes the flesh to make a point. “You screamed my name.”

“Emma—”

“Yep. That’s the one.”

In all their time together, Emma has never been like this. No walls, no hidden agendas, no Henry to use as a shield between them. Shifting onto her side, Regina snakes her hand down Emma’s body, feeling the dips and curves of the Saviour that are revealed to her as the sheet pulls away. She inches closer, presses a gentle kiss behind Emma’s ear.

“You don’t have to,” Emma tells her, but she makes no move to push Regina away.

“No,” Regina agrees, sliding her fingers between Emma’s legs. “But I want to.” Later, Regina promises herself, when her energy is restored and she can find the strength to tear herself away from Emma’s gaze, she’ll put her mouth to better use. But Emma rocks into her gently, kisses her like they might be making love.

And like always, Regina gives Emma what she needs in silence, holds her steady in ways that say _I’m here_ as she tenses and cries out in bliss against Regina’s neck.


	7. Desperate lovers

Inhaling, Regina wipes her hand down her face and turns onto her back. The sheets tangle around her legs, leaving her naked torso exposed to the sunlight that streams into the room.

Emma is nowhere to be found, and her clothes are missing from the floor where Regina’s still lie. The house is blissfully quiet, a serene sense of calm about it as Regina pushes herself out of bed and stretches her sore muscles. Something about today feels good. _She_ feels good.

And it may or may not be because she slept with someone she might like. Someone who wasted the night away with her with soft touches and kisses that were broken with laughter. Who knew Emma was ticklish?

Her morning begins with purpose. And the feeling of freedom washes over her as she picks up her clothes with the dirty sheets and puts them in the wash, knowing she has time to do mundane tasks as she mulls over the spell that can destroy magic.

The _spell_.

“Shit, shit!” Regina presses her hands against the washing machine in horror, trying to open the door. But it doesn’t budge, and all she can do is watch as her clothes churn with water and soap. _Gone_ ; and all because she had forgotten to check her pockets in a fit of happiness.

Moving away from the machine with her hands over her mouth, Regina slides her fingers up her face and clutches her hair. “No, no, no…” So many happy endings in that spell, and one of them Emma’s. Even if it cost too much, there was always a choice, and after last night, Regina knows she’ll do almost anything if it means keeping Emma happy.

She takes a deep breath, pressing her palms to her eyes as she squats in front of a washing machine, lamenting the person she used to be. A few weeks ago, Regina would have been pleased, but here she is, naked and afraid.

“Maybe, it’s for the best,” she tries to convince herself. “I was going to destroy it anyway.” Before Emma, before the clothes that were torn off her held something _this_ important. Turning away, Regina reminds herself that everyone who visits her doesn’t know how to knock and goes to wash the smell of sex from her skin.

When she wipes herself dry, two hickeys reveal themselves to her as evidence of Emma’s eagerness. “Fuck,” she breathes, running her fingers over the marks on her chest as a vague memory of Emma pushing her against the wall comes to mind. She lingers on them for too long, remembers too much before she snaps herself out of it. “Now is not the time,” she tells her reflection.

What she needs, Regina thinks as she pulls on leggings and a sports bra, is activity that’s mundane enough to get lost in. Grabbing a hairband that she spotted on Emma’s dresser earlier, Regina pulls her hair into a ponytail and laces up her sneakers. She barely remembers to snatch a bottle of water from the fridge before she darts out the door like Emma and Snow always does, running and _running_ from things that make them feel guilty.

The sun beats down on her, mocking her for not planning this out like she usually does. No sunscreen, no hat, no food in her system. All Regina feels is the road beneath her feet and the burn of her muscles as she passes by her old house, sees the destruction left behind by people who claim to be good.

For all the progress she’s made, Regina slows down to stare at what she could have had. She sees her life, everything she’s worked so hard for, and how the people must’ve laughed when they drew a penis on her front door. Her anger surges at the intrusive thoughts, simmers beneath her skin as power. She hasn’t tried to use her magic since the vault—the rejection was too much. But Regina presses her fingers to her chest and thinks of all the things she has now, of all the things she wants.

Rumple would loom behind her, taunting her to use every emotion in her arsenal. The ones that are the strongest, the ones that dark magic stems from. She pushes open the gate to her house and walks over her burnt lawn. The grass crunches under her shoes, blackens the soles with ash.

Rejection, loneliness, and despair. Regina feels it settle along her skin like heartbreak that turns into desperation. It morphs as she remembers where it all began, with her mother’s hand in Daniel’s chest and her future dead on the floor. The magic sparks between her fingers when she holds it out, a flickering thing that soars when she thinks of the injustice of everything. Of her trial and the impertinence of assigning her the responsibility of all the happy endings, of the town and their insistence to change who she is to fit their idea of good.

And who’s to say that they won’t walk all over her when she smiles for them, that they won’t torch her house and call her names when they destroy their own happy endings without a villain to blame?

“I hate them,” she hisses, and her magic sputters and dies.

“That was…” Regina turns sharply at the sound to find Emma standing behind her with her hands on her hips. “Almost impressive.”

Trying to get her breathing under control, Regina straightens her posture and fixes a smile on her face. “Emma,” she greets breathlessly, “I didn’t hear you there.” Silence, and a smirk. It should be enough for Regina to think this as some form of flirtation, but the distrust in Emma’s eyes is something new, and she rushes to remedy it before someone else leaves her. “I was testing out my magic,” Regina confesses.

“I saw. The lawn was green for a moment, and _then_...” She licks her lips, walks closer to where Regina stands as she lowers her voice to a mocking whisper. “I don’t think you hate them all.”

“What nonsense,” Regina huffs. “Hate is too good a word for these cretins—”

And she’s stopped, cut off so abruptly that Emma proves her point with a single kiss to her cheek. Soft, sweet, alarmingly affectionate. When Regina meets Emma’s gaze, she sees hope, and that’s far scarier than the distrust she thought she earned earlier.

“I like this look on you, by the way,” Emma says casually, like her eyes haven’t glued themselves to Regina’s midriff. “It’s very…” She trails off, her fingers idly drawing over Regina’s cleavage where one of the hickeys peek out from under the sports bra. “Becoming,” Emma finishes, and makes to move away like she hasn’t just defeated the purpose of Regina’s run in a single sentence.

Tugging her forward by her shirt, Regina kisses Emma like she hasn’t accidentally destroyed a very important spell, like her house isn’t vandalised, and they aren’t two important people who were never meant to love each other like this.

“If kisses could break curses,” Emma mutters against her lips.

Laughing, her mood significantly improved, Regina sashays out of her old house and gestures for Emma to follow her to their new one. “If you’re lucky,” she throws over her shoulder, “we can find out before your father comes in without knocking.”

“You’re really hung up about the knocking thing, huh?”

Regina levels Emma with a look. “With what we’re doing, dear,” she purrs, “knocking is essential.”

…

Regina arrives with Emma to find Snow and David sitting in the lounge. The spell books are all laid out, and the pages she marked for a forgetting potion and that amulet are left open.

Two sets of eyes turn toward them, and yes, Regina’s hair looks like she ran her fingers through it, and Emma’s shirt might be slightly askew, but that’s only because Emma insisted they drive back in the squad car instead of Regina walking back by herself. One thing might’ve led to another, and when Regina licks her lips nervously, she can still taste Emma on them.

“We’ve been waiting for ages,” Snow complains.

And if there’s anything that grinds Regina’s happiness down to a fine pulp, then it’s Snow White’s attitude. “I went out for a run, Snow. It’s not like I abandoned you.”

Emma winces beside her, and Snow snaps her mouth shut. The guilt that consumes her afterward is new, a feeling that she hasn’t felt for anyone else other than Henry. Slowly, like the movement might shatter something, Regina slides her pinkie over the back of Emma’s hand in apology.

David stands and glances between her and Emma, seeing too many things that they leave as evidence on each other’s bodies. He must see the hickey on her chest, the way they stand too close together, how Regina only tolerates Emma. He opens his mouth to say something, and Regina turns to see Emma shake her head at him subtly. David closes his mouth, and their secret is kept.

“How close are you to finding Red’s happy ending?” David asks after clearing his throat.

Regina gestures at the open books. “I can perform the spells and brew the potion today if this is what Red wants.”

“And if it isn’t?” Emma questions, suddenly tense, too stiff.

It’s a question that Snow answers with too much sympathy, the pain of their history weighty in her words. “Then Regina is stuck on this happy ending. She won’t be able to move on. It’s either we find a way to destroy magic and keep Red happy, or…” She tenses her jaw and leans into David who wraps an arm around her, his gaze still on his daughter and former enemy like he isn’t sure why he’s never seen it before.

Pressing a kiss to her head, David rubs Snow’s back and embraces her with such tenderness, it sickens Regina. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, glancing up at his daughter. “We’ll make it work. Right, Emma?”

Nodding her head sharply, Emma intertwines her fingers with Regina’s, holding on too tightly. “Yes, Dad,” she answers with a croak.

Snow snaps her head up from where she’s been excluded and gapes at Emma. “What did you say?” she asks. And there it is. David goes slack jawed when he realises that his little girl has essentially said _Dada_ , and Snow clutches at her necklace like she’s been betrayed.

“I, uh…”

“She said it’s nearly time for Henry to leave for school.” Regina steps forward into Snow’s space and glares at her. She says, “And I’m sure you must’ve thought coming here to check on my progress so early in the morning is priority, Snow. But I happen to find that my son’s education is far more important—”

“She’s very passionate,” Emma pipes up.

Regina turns that glare to Emma, holds her gaze for a beat too long where Emma’s eyebrow raises smugly. And there’s that damned smirk on her face that screams _fuck me_!

“Maybe,” David cuts in awkwardly, “you should both walk Henry to school today. Snow and I will go talk to Red, see if she can’t be persuaded to use Regina’s alternative solutions.”

At the thought of seeing her son again, Regina can’t hide her smile. This time, she’ll hug him as tight as he wants, maybe take him a nice lunch that’s got to be much better than whatever Snow has been feeding him. “Yes,” she drawls, “I think we’ll do that.”

:::

Henry takes one look at them and narrows his eyes. “Something’s different.”

“Really, kid?” Emma asks, then gestures at Regina with exuberance. “There’s a whole world of change standing here.”

Rolling her eyes, Regina scoffs at Emma and bends down to kiss Henry’s cheek. “How have you been, sweetheart?” she asks him, ignoring Emma completely.

The walls are down again, and Emma seems most like herself when the three of them are together. Maybe Henry senses that, sees his mother content in this town for the first time since the curse broke.

“No,” Henry drawls, squinting at them. “it’s _both_ of you.”

Her question tossed aside, Henry steps back to survey them and crosses his hands over his chest. He’s too perceptive, too observant not to notice how Regina wears a blouse with a neckline too high, and how Emma stands there with a shirt that’s not buttoned up correctly now that Regina looks at it. Shit.

She won’t lie to him again, can’t bring herself to lose whatever goodwill she’s earned.

“You should’ve seen your Mom today,” Emma says quickly, “she almost jogged all the way to the end of the street.” Chuffed, Emma lifts her chin and smiles wide, like this is something to be proud of. Regina glares at her, knowing exactly why she didn’t finish her morning run.

“That’s good, right?” Henry exclaims. “Do you think you can teach me how to use a bow and arrow, now? Grandma is nice and all, but sometimes she can be a bit…”

“Much?” Regina asks with a snort. Henry laughs with her, and Emma looks between them with longing and yearning for what she already has. “Maybe,” Regina muses, trying not to have a panic attack at the thought of Henry around sharp objects, “When I’m stronger for such activities.”

Ignoring Emma’s snort, Regina smiles at their son when he shrugs and grasps onto each of their hands, skipping between them as they walk him to school from where Snow and David dropped him off at Granny’s earlier. Now it makes sense why Snow wanted to protest this little family trip, and she glares at the woman who walks past her into the diner to speak to Red.

Henry remains oblivious as he waves to his grandparents and pulls his mothers along.

It’s nice, how they take turns answering Henry’s questions and adding in appropriate comments when he tells them something. But Regina can only look between Henry and Emma, remembering the time she couldn’t stand them being together. How could she be so cruel? How could she not see that the boy she loves more than anyone in the world is so alike Emma who loves just as hard as she?

“Mom,” Henry says, shaking her hand to get her attention. Regina pulls her hand away to pat his cheek. “I’ve got to go. But good luck with Red’s happy ending.” He hugs her tightly, and says, “I know you’ll do what’s right.” Regina stiffens and tries to contain her guilt.

Forcing a smile, Regina says, “Have a good day. And _please_ ,” she hands him a lunch tin, “eat healthy today.” He pouts as he hugs Emma who laughs at him, but begrudgingly takes the container from her hands with a pleased glint in his eyes. Still laughing at Henry, Regina shoves an identical container in Emma’s face who swallows the last of her giggles. “And you too, Sheriff.”

“Aw,” Emma coos with surprise, blinking too rapidly as she gingerly takes the lunch from Regina’s hands. A smile spreads across her lips, curves upward like a sickle that slices into their secret when Emma pecks her cheek shyly. “You care about me.”

Henry looks from one mother to the other, his mouth hanging open in shock. “I knew it!” Regina and Emma jump at the outburst. “I can’t wait to tell Grandpa that I won!”

“Hold up, Kid,” Emma says seriously, pulling Henry back from her so she can bend down to his eye-level. “Won what?”

Swallowing, Henry looks at Regina and then down at his shoes. “A bet,” he answers guiltily, “that you’d fall in love with each other.”

Spluttering, because a cheek kiss does not warrant love (no matter what they’ve been doing in private), Regina braces herself on her knees and bends down next to Emma. “We’re not in love, Henry,” she tells him, but a voice in her head screams lie, lie, _lie_. “I mean…I—”

“I’m not a baby.” He looks between them, his bottom lip wobbling like he’s lost something dire. “I can see it. I know you’re together.”

“It’s…complicated,” Emma answers for them both. She reaches for Henry’s arms, holding him in place. “Your mom and I are—”

Regina cuts in, “Friends. We are trying to be civil, and sometimes, it’s better not to put pressure on anything.” Because they are not diamonds, and whatever they pretend to be might shatter under the weight of a little boy who expects more from them than they can give.

Nodding, Henry rocks on the balls of his feet and looks them square in the eyes. “But, if you fall in love, you’ll tell me?”

It isn’t funny, but Emma laughs, and Regina’s throat closes up. “We will,” Emma reassures him, then sends him off with a smile too wide and their hearts cracked all the way open.

Regina takes a few steps back. “I need to go.”

“Or you can come to the station with me.” There isn’t a request in Emma’s words, no softness in her tone when Regina turns to her and sees only a concerned Saviour.

:::

The station is empty when they arrive. David and Snow must still be trying to convince Red to change her happy ending—as if such a thing is possible. The click of her shoes echoes in the space she’s spent too much time in, watching the ins and outs of the Charmings as they tried to regain control of a broken town.

Emma sits at her desk behind the glass of the sheriff’s office, separating them by something almost invisible; like the tone Emma used to drag her here. An itch settles between her shoulder blades, a niggling feeling that isn’t from anything she can reach.

Emma says casually, "Last night was something.”

Regina stands with her arms crossed over her chest; her reflection next to Emma who smiles at her from the other side of the glass. Unreachable, like the itch. She asks, “We’re talking about this now?”

There’s heat between them again, humid and choking, the type that makes people strip themselves of their clothes and lie in puddles of helplessness. This is how Emma looks at her now, like the glass between them is the only thing stopping her from reaching out and taking Regina.

“No,” Emma answers eventually. She reaches into her desk drawer to pull out something Regina can’t make out from where she stands. “We’re talking about this.” Held in her grasp, Emma exits the sheriff’s office and holds up a page for Regina to see.

Her hand reaches out on instinct, and her features colour with shock. “How did you…?”

“Last night,” Emma says, pulling the page out of her grasp, “before I left for my shift, I saw it coming out of your pants pocket.”

_To make magic, one must know how to destroy it. One must know why it demands a price!_ Rumple’s words are inked into the corner of the page in her neat script, and the spell glares at her with the clear translations like a curse she can’t rid herself of. “And you stole it?”

Folding the page in four, Emma approaches her until they stand only inches apart. She says, “I kept it safe,” like there’s more to this spell than Emma lets on, like she doesn’t understand what it might ask if Regina does this. “You can use this to give Red her happy ending.”

“It’s complicated, Emma.”

“It really isn’t.” Emma clutches Regina’s hands in hers, the spell squashed between their fingers as they want for different things. “We can go back to the way things were before. You can make this happen and stop being responsible for all the happy endings—”

“ _Emma_ …”

“—We can,” Emma breathes over her interruption, whispers things too tempting to resist. “We can be a family.”

Whatever is left of her heart shatters. Holding back a sob, Regina places her palms on Emma’s cheeks and draws her nearer, tries to memorise the way Emma looks at her now with devotion. A family, like the guilty dreams she thought would never come true. But only if there is no magic, no evidence of a curse and a life lived before this.

“And what life would that be?” she asks, her words a soft whisper that carries them back to reality. “Will we go back to being enemies fighting for our son? Or maybe, it might make you forget that your mother used to be my step—”

“It doesn’t count,” Emma growls. “When you mess with time, nothing counts.”

Running her thumbs over Emma’s cheeks, Regina tilts her head to catch Emma’s gaze. She says, “Everything counts. Who we are, the things we’ve done.” One of her hands slide down to rest against Emma’s chest where she feels the strength of her heartbeat. “What we are to each other.”

“You’re not the Evil Queen anymore,” Emma retorts. “You’re not even Madame Mayor. I haven’t heard a sarcastic remark from you in weeks, and the only person you fight with is Snow. So, don’t tell me that your past is the thing that changed you.”

She laughs incredulously, shifting back from Emma to give herself some space. Emma is right, she _has_ changed. “You made me _trust_ you,” Regina spits, angry and bitter again from a vague memory of who she used to be. Ripping the spell from Emma’s hand, Regina clutches it in her fist and shakes it in front of Emma’s face. “I was willing to do anything for you. I was willing to pay the price if it meant that you would be happy, but you don’t want _me_. You want who I used to be—someone just as resentful as you, someone just as fucked up.”

“That’s not true, Regina!” Scoffing, Regina walks past Emma with every intention of leaving. How could she be so foolish to think, to imagine that she could have happiness with someone meant to destroy her? “Regina!” Emma calls again, “Regina wait!”

Pinned against the wall, she breathes hard as Emma presses against her to keep her in place. “Maybe we’re both fucked up,” Emma agrees, “but I have always wanted all of you. The Regina you were, and the Regina you are now—all I’ve ever wanted was to keep you safe. If taking away magic does that, then of course I’m going to fight for it. I’d jump into a ring of death for you if I have to. I thought you knew that.”

And the sentiment would make any girl swoon, have them stripping themselves bare for Emma. But Regina is a woman, and one who has lived lifetimes and come out the other side unscathed. “But do you trust me?” she asks.

Emma stares at her, unblinking. And Regina waits, and waits, and waits.

“I can’t lose you,” is what Emma rasps against her lips, a prayer of a desperate woman.

Regina drops her head back against the wall and pushes Emma away from her. “You lied to Henry,” she chokes out, accusing and blunt. Emma blanches, drains of all colour as her fingers slip from Regina’s arm.

“I don’t trust you,” Emma confesses, and it shouldn’t hurt this much, but Regina tenses against the blow and pushes away from the wall. She can’t hear anymore, won’t subject herself to another heartbreak over magic of all things. “You’d sacrifice my happy ending in a heartbeat—”

“How dare you.”

“—You’d kill yourself over this punishment, and I want it to _end_.” She’s broken, that’s all Regina thinks when she looks at Emma who begs and pleads and is distressed enough to do anything for her. “Please.”

There is no air in the room, noting but desperation that chokes them both. _I love you_ Emma says in too many words. It’s enough for Regina to swallow her pride, that damned spell still clutched in her hand as she pulls Emma toward her, holds her tight enough that she stops trembling.

Curse her wretched heart for all the same things the Saviour harbours.

:::

_I can’t lose you_. Emma’s words play on a loop as she speed-walks down to Town Hall.

Emma had reluctantly let her leave the station on her own, and Regina realises that she should’ve asked after her car weeks ago. But Town Hall isn’t too far from the station, and she breathes a sigh of relief when she sees David’s truck parked in the Mayor’s spot.

The jealousy she hoped to feel about being replaced isn’t present anymore, not for this title that consumed her time, gave her only a modicum of power in exchange for a hollow life. Now, things are different, the people she loves are different, and when she bursts into the Mayor’s office without knocking, Regina appeases herself with knowing that she hasn’t lost it all.

Snow yelps as she fists her blouse in her hand, and David quickly zips up his jeans as they tumble from the couch to greet her. “Regina!” Snow gasps.

“Serves you right,” she says smugly. “Now you know how it feels.”

Still clutching her blouse, Snow gestures for Regina to leave. “Can we have some privacy?”

Regina mulls over it, then closes the door behind her and waltzes into her old office. “No,” she says sternly. “I don’t have time for your modesty. I need your,” she clears her throat, like the words are stuck there, “advice.”

David’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he pulls his shirt over his jeans and doesn’t bother to tuck it in. “Is it about Emma?” he asks.

“It’s about magic,” she cuts in. Setting the spell on the desk, she takes a seat on her old chair and gestures for Snow and David to sit. Reluctantly, they both shuffle into the visitor’s chairs and peer at the page before them. “There is a spell to destroy it, and Red can have her happy ending if she wants.”

“But you said you didn’t know how.” David glances at Snow who has given up on buttoning her blouse and reaches across the table to take the spell instead. She reads it over, then looks at Regina with a frown. “I don’t understand.”

Running her hands down her face. Regina exhales a shaky breath. “We all know that if I rid this town of magic then there are happy endings that won’t be solved. We’ll be stuck in this situation again with someone else. I have the option to get rid of it, but I need help. I need a solution that will benefit everyone, and then I can finally be free from your _community_ _service_.” She spits the last words out, feels irritation more than rage at this point. And that fact that it bothers her is a bother.

Maybe she should see Archie.

Snow throws her a look, and then hands the spell to David as she rights her blouse. David skims over the translations but sets it down between them too quickly. “What’s the price?” he asks, just like his daughter who can’t afford to lose anything else.

Swallowing, Regina leans forward with her hands clasped on the desk and purses her lips in fear. “It asks,” she begins, looking up at Snow and David, “for my true love.”

“Henry,” Snow gasps.

David says, “Emma,” at the same time.

Caught between the two of them, Regina stutters. Henry, Emma. Emma, Henry. She could lose both, she could lose none. But it’s Snow’s expression of absolute shock that makes the room still, sets the spell aside for something much larger than magic and curses.

“What do you mean _Emma_?”

David glances at Regina for help, but she leaves him grappling for his own lifeboat as she stands to save herself. This was useless, and now she’s trapped here in a town that will come to know she’s sleeping with Emma because David couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Regina?” Snow asks, turning to her.

Caught, she takes in deep breaths through her nose and clutches the back of her chair for support. Snow can’t hurt her, not here. Mother is dead, and there is no one else in this town that can remove a heart, that can take away the one thing she thought she’d never find again.

It’s David who gently takes Snow’s hand, looks to Regina for permission and only continues when she gives him a slight nod of her head. “You must have noticed,” he says gently, “how Emma is ready to do anything for Regina—how she fights for her? It’s what we do for each other.”

“No.” Pulling her hand away, Snow stands with her arms outstretched, keeping Regina and David at bay. She’s processing, fitting family trees and timelines together, sewing actions and events into a tapestry that spell out so beautifully what Regina means to her daughter. A minute passes, and Snow exhales in resignation as everything begins to make sense. “How could I not see this?”

She paces with a hand on her forehead, like a queen who must make a decision. “The Saviour and the Evil Queen,” she mutters under her breath, then turns sharply to face Regina who stands there like a scolded child. “You love her.” An accusation filled with jealousy and hurt. Regina opens her mouth to protest but Snow laughs over her. “After all these years…”

“Snow,” David calls, reaching out to his wife who doesn’t look sweet-tempered and kind. She looks _relieved_. It’s a fucking scary sight for Regina who realises she has nothing to attack Snow with anymore, nothing to hurt her for when the person who took away her happiness has given birth to her new one.

“I don’t forgive you,” Regina rasps, desperate to hold onto a smidgen of who she used to be.

Smiling at her, Snow takes David’s hand and inhales deeply, sucking up all the oxygen to leave Regina scrambling for breath. “You will,” she says, determined. And then, like none of this ever happened, she turns to the spell and shakes her head. “You won’t lose Henry—or Emma. We can work this out.”

“Just like that?”

David’s smile grows larger, taking up half his face as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to order us some lunch,” he says, already dialling a number, “I think we’re going to be here a while.”

Flabbergasted, Regina can only watch as David squeezes her shoulder in passing and makes his call from the other end of the office. Snow looks at her calmly, like a friend she might tolerate and says, “Welcome to the family,” in all seriousness.

And maybe, _tolerate_ might be a strong word. But there’s hope, and Regina is willing to hold onto that if it means they can finally have some peace.


	8. Opposing leaders

Wrappers and polystyrene containers clutter the edge of the desk. It’s afternoon already, with grey skies that promise rain. Regina has gone over the plan enough times that David rubs his eyes and flops back onto the couch, and Snow massages her temples in exhaustion until she leans forward on her elbows to slap a hand over Regina’s notebook.

“It’s time,” Snow says gently.

Regina knows what must come next, that she’ll put her head on a chopping block to end this all. Swivelling the chair toward the large windows, Regina turns her back on her past and contemplates her future.

She has a view of the busiest parts of town from here. She can see children laughing as they make a beeline for the arcade, Granny’s winding down after the lunch rush, and the sheriff’s station that’s in desperate need of more deputies. The squad car is gone, and Regina knows that soon enough, Emma will bring Henry back with her after an ice-cream cone or two.

She says, “I don’t want to do this without discussing it with Emma first.”

Snow sighs, and Regina can picture her frown as she stands from her chair. “Emma has made her position on this clear. And you refuse to tell her the price of this spell—”

“I won’t.” Because telling Emma would mean asking her to sacrifice one more thing. And there’s a chance that they’re not true loves at all, that Regina’s heart might break over a wish that might never come to pass. She takes in a sharp breath and turns toward Snow. “Call the meeting,” she says bluntly, and stands to gesture at David. “I’ll go home and change into something appropriate.”

David eases himself up from the couch and looks Regina up and down. “You look fine.”

“I look ordinary,” Regina counters. Because she’s wearing a plain, fitted t-shirt beneath a heavy blue coat, and her loafers look terrible paired with her light grey pants that haven’t been ironed. Pressing her forefinger and thumb to the bridge of her nose, Regina sighs. “I need to borrow an iron. Emma broke mine.”

Patting her shoulder in sympathy as he walks her out, David chuckles. “That’s my girl.”

:::

In a sea of black, Regina is the only one in red. She sticks out like a sore thumb with her hair perfectly coiffed, wine coloured lipstick lining her mouth, perfectly matched stilettos on her feet, and a maroon skirt suit that’s only broken up by a crisp white shirt with a tasteful amount of buttons undone.

Madame Mayor in all her glory.

A person Regina feels uncomfortable becoming for the town, no matter if it protects her from the people who still hate her, who see her as nothing more than a villain who should be punished. There’s a long way to go until she’s redeemed, but with every person that passes her into Town Hall, looking and staring with trepidation in their eyes, Regina thinks redemption may never come.

“Hey,” Emma says breathlessly, a small smile on her face. “Did my mother give you back the office or something?” Gesturing at Regina’s outfit, Emma smiles too wide.

It isn’t the hope in her voice or the barely concealed lust in her gaze that makes Regina pause. _My mother_ , Emma claims so beautifully, and Regina can’t help but offer Emma a soft smile, almost careless with her affection in front of too many witnesses. “No,” she answers, “this has to do with Red’s happy ending. With…all our happy endings.”

Maybe, she can open up to Emma about this, maybe this simple acceptance of being Snow White’s daughter might be a step in the right direction for them. The past, even if it hasn’t changed her into who she is now, is still important. Daniel lives there, her father, her mother, her power. And even for Emma, whom she feels for, Regina won’t toss that part of herself away.

Clutching her hand, Emma steps in close and shields their conversation from everyone who watches them curiously. “ _All_ the happy endings?” she inquires.

Regina closes her eyes and leans into Emma just a little, her fingers flexing in Emma’s hold as she wrestles with everything too heavy to bear. “I’ve made a decision,” she whispers, “about the spell.” And she’s selfish, utterly, and uselessly selfish when she tells Emma this. There are other ways, better ways to break a heart, but Regina only knows one.

An apology sits at the tip of her tongue, but it’s reared back when Snow touches her shoulder and gestures for her to come along. “They’re waiting.”

Nodding, Regina allows Snow go on ahead with the few people lingering outside. “We should—”

Tugged back, Emma halts Regina’s escape. “I trust you,” she whispers, like a secret no one else can know.

Thunder rolls overhead, a low sound that rumbles in her chest. Yet, the day remains blindingly bright despite the absence of the sun, illuminating all the beauty and ugliness that remains hidden in the shadows. And this is who Emma is to her, Regina realises too late. Her light against the dark.

Bringing her hand up, Regina kisses Emma’s palm and releases her. No amount of words can sum up her gratitude, and Regina isn’t willing to try. When she follows Emma into Town Hall, she wonders if any of this is worth it.

…

Henry sits in the front row beside Emma and David. There are chocolate stains on the corner of his mouth, and a drop of ice-cream on his school shirt. He should have had a shower already, changed out of his uniform and done half his homework, but there’s a childish glee in his expression that tells Regina his afternoon was better spent.

Perhaps, it’s the girl who blushes two seats over with similar stains on her sleeves. Regina glides her gaze to Jefferson who sits between them, his eyes narrowed, and jaw clenched much in the same way Regina fears she must look.

Someone clears their throat and Regina’s attention is snatched by Emma who shoots her a look. _Be nice_ , she says with her expression. But Regina isn’t the nice parent, and she certainly won’t stand for her son to be involved with anyone whilst he’s this young. Thirty sounds like an appropriate age.

“—former mayor will address you.”

A wave of disgruntlement goes through the hall, but Emma blinks at her to _stand up_ , and Regina complies if only to prove that she’s not scared of them. Her lips purse and her spine straightens on instinct, and she feels the fakery of her power before she even says a word.

The crowd dies down into a hum as she approaches the podium. Curious little bastards. “Good Afternoon, Storybrooke,” she greets, slow and measured. “As many of you know, to pay for my crimes I have been sentenced to find every happy ending that my curse has lost. One such happy ending, if I give it back, will affect us all.”

Someone stands up in the crowd. “If you didn’t cast the curse in the first place none of this would be happening!”

Gripping the podium, Regina closes her eyes as she waits for the rest of the crowd to cause an uproar. They’ll shout and scream and blame her for everything. How convenient it must be to have a villain to shoulder the responsibility for all the wrong in their tiny worlds.

“The curse is cast, and we’re here aren’t we?” A woman yells back. “Now why don’t you sit down and listen instead of blaming the Queen for trying to right her wrongs?”

“We should have killed her! That would right my wrong!”

Opening her eyes, Regina watches the spectacle with awe. Clorina has her fists raised in outrage, and David holds her by her waist to prevent any mishaps. Beside her, Sister Astrid stands up and says, “If we killed her, I would have never had the courage to be with my Dreamy.”

The Dreamy in question looks positively wistful when he looks at Sister Astrid, but his expression turns sour when he looks at anyone else. “And don’t tell me none o’ yeh would’ve found yerselves happy if we’d killed the Queen. We’d still be stuck here, angry and in pain, but with a dead Queen to blame if anythin’ went wrong.”

“And she’s done good!” Jefferson pipes up from the front row. He smooths his hand down his scarf nervously and sniffs. “No one thinks about what _we_ have done to this woman, how we’ve wronged her by letting Rumpelstiltskin corrupt her. And where is he, heh? Why isn’t the Dark One being punished?”

The Hall goes silent, shocked, and outraged much in the same way they were at her admission of guilt. Perhaps, there are more voices, but Regina clears her throat awkwardly and all the eyes in the room shift to her.

“As…moving as this is,” she says, ignoring Emma’s giggles behind her hand and Snow’s beaming smile, “we have business to attend to.”

“And she never wastes our time!” Someone shouts, and Regina glares at the crowd. That’s one compliment too many.

Bracing herself, she flattens her hand over the spell and looks at Henry and Emma. “A happy ending required me to remove magic entirely, but in doing so I realise that other happy endings will be impossible to achieve. My aim is to provide the people of Storybrooke with three options.”

A slide comes up behind her, and Regina grits her teeth as Snow plays the PowerPoint she had made earlier today for comprehension purposes. That was one argument Regina did not win.

“First, I will open a portal into the Enchanted Forest for those who wish to go back home and start over. It is likely that whoever chooses this option will remain in the Enchanted Forest for the foreseeable future without any way of coming back. Not unless we manage to find a safe method of realm jumping as often as one would like.”

A few people gasp in surprise, but Whale stands up with every intention of starting a fight. “And what about those who don’t come from the Enchanted Forest, huh? What about us?”

Shifting, Regina sighs in defeat. “I can only open a portal to the Enchanted Forest because the barrier between our worlds broke. I can manipulate the magic I put there to hold it, but I can’t open any other portals.” She holds his gaze and says, “I’m sorry.”

Whale kicks his chair in anger and storms out. She always knew his happy ending would defeat her. Regina didn’t think it would be like this.

“Second,” she rasps, then pauses to clear her throat. “You can stay here, in Storybrooke if you’d like. Life will resume as normal, with an elected mayor and…” She crumples the spell in her fist, holds it between her fingers as Emma sits on the edge of her seat, waiting.

She’s selfish, so selfish. “And magic,” she finishes. “Magic will remain here. Whoever develops the ability to use it will be trained and held accountable. Storybrooke will become an organised society to deal with magic and the uses of it.”

Red gapes at her, Emma sucks in a sharp breath, and Henry frowns at his shoes. They look at her like she’s holding onto power, like she knows how to fully utilise her magic in this world with all its rules. And the trust that Emma afforded her melts into disappointment instead.

“If none of these options please you, then there is still the outside world. I do not have a cure for memory loss if you cross the town line, and if you do, you cannot come back. Storybrooke must be protected, and that means its location will remain secret. The rest is up to you to decide.”

The PowerPoint switches off and Regina is shrouded in darkness once again. The town seems divided on her new course of action as they shift in their seats, but it’s Red who approaches her with all the fury in the world.

“You promised me my happy ending,” she hisses.

Regina guides her off stage, out of sight from the rest of the town that Snow tries to calm. “If you want the curse back and no magic, Red. There’s an entire world out there that you can enjoy as Miss Lucas. What you want is something you cannot have.” She looks at Snow purposefully, and Red follows her line of sight.

Red releases a shaky breath and holds her head in her hands. “Do you have a cure for heartbreak?” she asks.

Tears sting her eyes, little pinpricks of annoyance as Regina forgoes her reputation as the Evil Queen and pulls Red into an embrace. “There is someone out there who will love you more than you can ever imagine. You just need to let go.”

“I don’t want to forget,” Red whispers into her shoulder.

Rubbing her back, Regina pulls away from the embrace to look Red in the eye. “Then don’t” she says around the lump in her throat. “But make a little room for your future—for someone else.”

Red nods with determination and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. She smiles tentatively, like Ruby who used to give her coffee and flirt endlessly. “You _are_ nice,” she breathes, and Regina makes the mistake of smiling back. “Emma must be doing a really good job.”

Her smile drops into an exasperated look. “Really, Miss Lucas?” she chides, and walks away before she can hear anymore lewd comments.

…

People argue with each other, others make excited plans, and some stare at the ground glumly. Regina has created a buzz, that’s for sure. She can see the beginnings of change, the unsettling of Storybrooke that has only just begun to function.

Henry and Emma stand off to the side under a large maple tree. She watches them carefully, sees the stiffness in their posture and the way they clutch onto each other like they might break if they let go. Snow approaches them, sets a hand each on their shoulders, and says something Regina cannot hear.

Whatever words she uses to appease them remains useless. Nothing will ever be the same for them, not for Emma nor Henry, not for the two people in this town who have known nothing else besides a Land without magic. And if they choose to give this up, they might lose too many things in the process.

Slowly, with fear in each step she takes, Regina draws closer to the pair. Henry glares at her, too young to understand anything but Emma’s grief. He aches for her and takes it out on Regina who has always been vulnerable to him.

“Henry,” she breathes, kneeling to take his hands in hers. “Are you alright?”

He bites his lip and shakes his leg, fighting back tears. “You didn’t use the spell,” he says, his voice breaking on a frustrated cry. He rips one hand out from her grasp and rubs his eye.

“No,” she agrees, looking up at Emma who stands there with her arms crossed over her chest. “I don’t expect you to understand, Henry. But some decisions needed to be made. I brought everyone here and they want to go back. Ridding Storybrooke of magic is…a temporary solution.”

“And what about us?” he asks sharply, disrespect in his tone.

Regina feels her body tense in anger. She’s done more to help these people than their heroes in the last few weeks, and here her son is, accusing her of not caring. “ _Henry_ …” she warns, because anger she can tolerate, but this, whatever Henry is doing now is unacceptable.

“No!” he screams, stepping back from her entirely. “You don’t care about us, you only care about your magi—”

“Henry!” Her shout startles them both, makes Emma and Snow flinch from where they stand. Reaching for Henry again, Regina pulls him closer. “I have had enough of this. I did what I thought was best. Not because—” she takes a breath, calming herself down to speak in a softer tone. “Not because I care about my magic, but because I care about _you_. You think I wanted all of this to happen? I want people to be happy because it means that _I_ can finally be happy, that I can redeem myself. Be better.” She smiles at him, teary and with all her emotions on display. “Better f-for you, for this town, for…” She licks her lips and glances up at Emma, allows her sentence to trail off into nothing.

Henry huffs, too young to grasp everything this decision has entailed. He sees in black and white, understands only one side of the story, and now that he knows hers, he deflates. Out of air and unable to choose where he stands, Regina pulls him into an embrace and holds him there. He refuses to hug her back, his hands hanging limply at his sides.

“I told you,” she whispers, “everything is going to be okay.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Emma nod, and it’s only then that Henry brings his hands up to hold her, squeezes her with strength that forces the air out from her lungs. “Promise?” he asks quietly.

Regina wheezes through her answer, “I…promise.”

When Henry releases her, Regina sucks in a lungful of air and brushes her hands down Henry’s arms. “I knew I felt muscle,” she teases, but he grins at her with his chocolate stained mouth and forgets his anger as quickly as it came.

“I’ll take him home,” Snow offers, looking up at the darkening sky. The thunder has stopped, but a light drizzle has started and doesn’t look like it’s going to let up any time soon. The rest of town seems to have the same idea, and most of them make their way in groups toward Granny’s.

“I’ll come with,” Emma says, already guiding Henry and Snow into the crowd.

Regina reaches for her, tugs her back by the edge of her sleeve. “Wait,” she pleads. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Emma presses her lips together, as if to keep her words in her mouth that might hurt them both. “I thought,” she says very slowly, careful with how she phrases it, “that you would use the spell.”

Regina looks at Snow pointedly, and she takes Henry with her to where David waits by the truck. “And I didn’t,” she says with just as much care, standing up to face Emma like an adult.

They stare at each other, measuring and assessing, catching all the things that have changed since they did this last; since Emma brought her doughnuts and claimed to care. Things have turned on its head, left them reeling as they adjust to their new roles.

By the time Emma formulates an answer, Town Hall is deserted. “My parents will go back to the Enchanted Forest, and they’ll expect me to follow them with Henry. I’ll be thrown into the life I should’ve had and shown all the things I missed. Then they’ll point at you and say, ‘ _Look, she’s the one to blame for all of this!_ ’ And I’m supposed to take it, because I’ll be an imposter in a life that was crafted for me. An ungrateful princess.”

It amuses her that every time Emma rants and raves, Regina feels impossibly calm. Perhaps, because a part of her knows Emma’s distress is caused by her curse, that Regina simply listens.

“A-and I asked you for one thing!” Emma continues, her index finger up in the air to keep count. “No more magic. No more—no more feelings, l-like I want…” She grabs fistfuls of her hair and tugs, her lips twisting in pain.

The calm Regina feels dissipates, leaves her like a fog as she steps forward after Emma who backs away from the tree to stand under the drizzle. Her hair dampens, and the droplets catch on her leather jacket to slide down her elbows. Regina thinks the sight is beautiful enough to paint, to capture and praise for generations to come. But Emma twists away and the vision is lost.

“What do you want?” Regina finds herself asking. “Not magic nor parents nor whatever else this curse has given you since it broke. Tell me what you really want for _you_.”

A broken sob reaches her ears, caught in the crossfire of a laugh. “You’re going to give me my happy ending?” Emma asks. And they’ve had this conversation before, when the sky was still light, and the rain was a distant thought.

Regina doesn’t budge, doesn’t react at the comment that was meant to hurt. She holds herself together under the drizzle that becomes heavier with her silence, until her hair curls under the moisture and her blazer sports dots of black.

Taken aback, Emma slides her hands down her face, removes her fingers that hide her eyes to reveal an ocean of swirling gold. Magic, desperate and powerful. “What if it’s the magic?” Emma asks in a husk, “what if I only want you because of the magic?”

Shocked. There is no other word. Because Emma has only taken an interest in her after they closed the barrier between worlds, and—

“No,” Regina says sternly, holding up her hand to put a stop to this nonsense. “Tell me,” she implores, stepping into Emma’s personal space, “when you put your mouth on me this morning, was it magic telling you what to do?”

“No, but—”

“—And when you kissed me yesterday? Or how about when you accompanied me to restore all the happy endings? Was the magic there when you picked me up from the floor before I could be trampled to death, or perhaps it whispered in your ear when you untied me after you retrieved the golden egg that Gold had stolen? How about the time you saved me from—”

“NO! No, it wasn’t there!”

Breathing hard, Regina picks Emma’s head up by her chin, holds her gaze as the magic continues to pulse throughout her. “Is there anything else?” she asks. Because Emma will have a million excuses not to be happy, and this spell and its magic is only one of them.

“You didn’t tell me why.” And there’s the question that forces Regina to reveal her true nature, to out herself as a possessed villain trying to keep her jewels safe.

Taking out the spell from her pocket, Regina places it in Emma’s palm and folds her fingers over it. “All magic comes with a price,” she quotes, and steps back from Emma who frowns at the spell, sees the page just as she had the other day.

She turns it over, unfolds it to read over Regina’s translations again. There is no specific price mentioned, no way for Emma to know what it demands. “Tell me,” she forces out, her voice carrying a surge of power.

Regina snaps, “Telling you won’t make a difference. You will still struggle with your magic thinking it makes you just as bad as me. But you don’t see what good it can do, how it can heal people, fix things. Magic is only a _tool_ , Emma,” Regina sighs, defeated and lost, and just as lonely as she was before. “It is the wielder who makes it light or dark. When you accept this, your magic will be in your control.”

Jutting her chin out, Emma crumples the spell in her hand. “Fine,” she says, “I accept I have magic. Now tell me,” she stresses, the tendons in her neck straining with the effort to keep her voice level, “what was the price asked?”

There’s still magic flickering in Emma’s eyes, but it looks tamed, held back by an invisible force that Regina knows all too well. She slicks her hair back from her face, feels the wet strands smooth over her scalp, and the water run down the back of her neck. Regina shivers.

She takes her time, waits for Emma to calm down, for the gold in her eyes to recede into its usual green. Then, she takes a breath and says, “True love,” like she has none of it at all.

Emma darts her gaze from the spell to Regina, like the answer to this might be in the space between them. “Henry?” she asks, her eyes widening in realisation.

Shrugging, the action awkward with her blazer, Regina chokes out a desperate laugh. “Maybe? Maybe not?”

“Who, then?”

All Regina can do is breathe. She concentrates on the rise and fall of her chest, on the expansion and contraction of her abdomen as time passes. The answer is so obvious, a glaring thing that can’t be ignored, yet Emma is blind to it, doesn’t believe all the things Regina has said and done.

But a pinprick of doubt, a stab of pain where it hurts most, and Emma presses her hand to her forehead as the drizzle turns into rain, soaks them both to the bone as they refuse to cry. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Emma asks with an exhale. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

There’s that loyalty again, a Knight on the opposite end of the board that jumps all the rules, plays games with the queen that falls in love. “This is why,” Regina answers, gesturing at Emma wildly. “You’d do anything for my happiness, but you never think about yourself! If I didn’t use the spell, I wanted you to find something worth staying for—”

“I would have stayed for you!”

“Exactly!” Stabbing her finger at Emma, Regina leans in close, can taste the tension between them when she licks her lips. “You would have stayed for me. Not because you accept where you’re from, or who your parents are. You would be miserable all because you won’t want to lose me, and I would let you. Because I am selfish, and I—”

“—Lied to Henry.”

Swallowing the rest of her rant, Regina startles. “What?”

“You lied,” Emma says slowly over the rain, wonderment in her eyes as she weaves her hands around Regina’s waist to pull her close. She laughs, a stricken thing that’s part afraid and part relieved. “You lied to Henry,” she says again, “like I did.”

That’s what they are then. Lovers and liars that stand in the rain, who fight over spells that fall from Emma’s hand in a sodden lump of paper and smeared ink. Regina watches its descent, allows herself to feel loss. Emma catches her gaze again, her thumb skimming over Regina’s chin.

She says, “I’ll learn,” with the softest of voices, a whisper against her lips that are never touched. “Like you did, with one happy ending at a time. What are parents and magic against that?”

And Regina knows she has learnt and adjusted, has unravelled her curse with kindness of all things. But she never thought she’d receive this gift in return. Overwhelmed, Regina pulls Emma to her in a proper embrace, holds her until she feels warm again and the rain doesn’t fall between them like a shield. “I love you,” she breathes out in the open, left for anyone to pick and judge.

Tucked into the crook of her neck, Emma laughs against her skin. Her smile is still fixed on her face when she slides her hand through Regina’s hair and pulls her down for a lingering kiss. “I love you too,” is whispered against Regina’s lips, no longer a secret unsaid.

But they’re still liars to their son, even as the sky turns dark and the streetlights flicker on, casting them in the shadows from the trees as they kiss in the rain like forlorn lovers.

:::

“I want my car back,” she tells Emma.

They’ve been driving in silence ever since their confessions, and whatever romantic moment was between them has come and gone. Reality had stung just as hard as the rain, and it pounds down on the roof of the car as they make their way to the loft.

Emma reaches for her hand, warms her fingers in her own with gentleness. “You’ve always had your car. It’s in the garage of the house, and the keys are on the rack. I thought you were too hurt to drive yourself.”

“I thought…”

“You were a prisoner?” Emma scoffs and releases her hand to shift into gear as they turn into Snow’s street. “I’d never let that happen to you...” she says, then squints and adds, “for too long.”

“Because I’m Henry’s other mother?” Regina asks, ready for Emma to forget everything and slide back into old habits.

But Emma laughs at her, takes her hand in her grasp again and brings it up to her lips. “Among other things,” she breathes. And _winks_. Winks at her like she’s Ruby at the diner and trying to give her a happy ending—and Regina feels impossibly jealous.

“Did you ever…with Miss Lucas?”

The question comes out of nowhere, but Emma smirks at it, nonetheless; allows Regina to play out whatever emotion is trapped within it. “No,” she answers once the car has been parked and the rain doesn’t pelt on the roof of it anymore. “I had my eye on someone else.”

She’s infuriating like this, so damned smug as she turns away to exit the car. And Regina is furious and jealous and possessive enough to tug her back, to grab her jacket and smash her lips to Emma’s in a claim.

Emma kisses her back, meets her pace with possession of her own, and Regina’s skin heats wherever Emma touches, chases the cold away with nothing more than surrender. They fight like this, with lips and teeth and tongue, ragged breaths filling the space of the car that mists the windows to keep this private.

When her hand travels up Emma’s wet shirt, skims up to cup her breast over her bra, that’s when Emma breaks their kiss with a harsh gasp. “Henry,” she says before Regina bites her lip in need. “We have to tell Henry.”

“Are you afraid dear?” Regina asks in a husk. “That your parents are upstairs—”

Pushed back into her own seat, Emma pins her down by her shoulders and kisses her senseless, steals the air from her lungs and sparks her magic that grows stronger every time Emma touches her. Pushing away, Emma wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and says, “No. I’m afraid if we start, we won’t leave.”

“Right.” Calming her racing heart, Regina takes a deep breath. They can’t do this now, not until they’re alone again and Regina can taste every inch of her. “You’re right.”

Pecking her lips one last time, Emma exits the car and leaves Regina to ruminate in her lust as her skin cools against her wet clothes. She can’t remember a time before this when all she wanted was Emma gone. And now here she is, taking Emma’s hand as she gets off the car to face their son.

…

Henry stares at them. He looks and searches, narrows his eyes at the state they find themselves.

“We got caught in the rain,” Emma explains with an easy smile on her face that says she has more experience lying about petty things than Regina does.

Regina will look into the face of another king and call him attractive, will balance books and claim to have more than she owns. But this? Where she lies about who she’s slept with and with whom her lipstick stains still cling to, Regina is useless.

Snow joins Henry and settles a hand over his shoulder as she quirks a brow at them both. “One of you go to the shower. The other can help me set the table.”

The audacity to boss her around, to mother and set rules when Regina is older than Snow, has experienced much more than her—

“Go,” Emma tells her. She pushes an overnight bag in her hands and Regina glares at it instead. “I always keep a spare set of your clothes in the car. Figured not all happy endings would be clean.” She turns away from the pair still staring at them and says, “Also, no killing my mother,” through her teeth.

Sighing, Regina takes the bag and smiles thinly, then makes her way to the bathroom just to escape it all. Once she’s under the spray of hot water, washing away all the rain that still clings to her skin, Regina relaxes. She hears Henry and Emma laughing about something, David and Snow chatting to each other over the clang of cutlery and scrape of plates. She wonders, as she cleans herself in her former-enemy’s house, whether she has a family now.

If she cries, then it’s to mourn. And when Emma knocks on the door, concerned at how long she’s taking, Regina doesn’t answer, doesn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing that they’ve defeated her.

“I’ll wait here,” Emma says through the door. Regina only cries harder.


	9. Despicable companions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: NSFW. Self inflicted bodily harm.

They tell Henry four days later, after David and Emma spent the previous day setting up a new dining table for Regina. She had insisted it was an essential piece of furniture that would allow her to host family dinners. Snow had teared up and tried to hug her, but Regina pushed Emma in her place and promptly escaped.

Now, here they are, sitting at said table with plates of Paella in front of them as they face their son like two scolded teenagers.

“Were you lying to me, before?” comes the question.

It’s raining again today, making the afternoon turn dark before its time. Emma shifts in her seat, no doubt eager to switch on a light. Henry sits in front of the large window, his outline illuminated by the grey skies outside, and the shadow that falls over his face makes his glare scarier than it ought to be.

Gripping her thigh, Regina keeps Emma in place. “We did not,” she says softly. “We didn’t know until recently. We wanted to be sure.”

Henry looks between them, an indiscernible expression on his face. “No more fighting?” He inquires.

Emma laughs at his seriousness, and Regina winces at the sound. She bumps her shoulder into Regina’s, tilts her head mischievously, and says, “Maybe, but I think your mother _likes_ fighting with me.”

Regina cringes at the awkwardness. Jokes won’t work on their son, not after everything he’s gone through to get this far—where he shares a meal with the mother he claimed to hate. Her grip tightens on Emma’s thigh in warning.

“It is perfectly natural for two headstrong people to sometimes disagree on things.” For Emma to want a life without magic, for Henry to want a family, and for Regina to be caught between her redemption and her revenge. “But we are working on disagreeing in a more…” she clears her throat and glances at Emma, feels affection settle in her chest without her permission. “Healthy way,” Regina finishes.

Emma takes her hand and their fingers intertwine on instinct. Regina can’t help how her eyes slip down to Emma’s lips, remembering all the times they’ve fought, and made up, and fought again. But Emma has been calmer lately, taking things in her stride in ways that make Regina hopeful for their future.

“Please don’t kiss in front of my Paella,” Henry grumbles around a mouthful of food, and Regina tears her gaze away from Emma who smirks at her with all the audacity of someone dating the Evil Queen.

Henry’s expression doesn’t carry the disgust Regina thought it would, instead he looks conflicted. Torn between what he knows and what he sees, between his reality and the fantasies that might look nothing like this.

“So,” Emma sighs, fidgeting with her fork as she steals glances at Henry. “Are you okay with this, with your Mom and I…?”

“Dating?”

“Yeah.” Emma turns to Regina briefly, then focuses on Henry once more. “I mean, it’s okay if you’re not. I know thinking about it and then seeing it in front of you are two different things.”

They haven’t been overly affectionate in front of him. Regina makes sure to keep their touches to a minimum, even if Emma slides her hand up her thigh when they occasionally sit together, and Regina gives Emma scorching looks that means she’s going to lose her clothes later. But with their son, they are careful, tentative with how they approach this when they know so much has changed for him already.

Henry bites his lip guiltily and hunches over his food. “I just wanted Mom to be safe,” he admits, and Regina melts like a puddle at the sentiment. “If the Saviour and the Evil Queen fell in love no one would get hurt. We’d be happy together.” He looks up from his food to meet their eyes, and all Regina sees is a child who has rationalised this solution out of need and too much responsibility.

Regina makes to comfort Henry, but Emma releases her hand and leaves her grappling for support. “Your mother and I love each other,” Emma says, standing up to finally switch on the light, “but that doesn’t mean we love you any less.”

Bathed in light, Henry doesn’t look like the result of Regina’s darkness anymore. She isn’t proving something to her son by loving his mother, she isn’t making herself a family as a form of redemption, and Regina realises that _yes_ , she is selfish. Selfish for all the right things, selfish for love and happiness, and all the good she’s always deserved.

“No matter what,” Regina adds, taking Henry’s hand in hers. “Your mother and I would have protected each other. Not because we’re in love, or we share you, but because Emma is a good person, and I’m—” she laughs softly, “I’m trying to be one too.”

Squeezing her palm, Henry exhales. “Not because I made you promise?” he asks tentatively. Guilty, and burdened with the same things Regina still needs to discard.

“No,” Regina whispers gently. “I’m trying to be good because I _want_ to be. I want to be happy, and my happiness includes you.”

“And Emma?”

Regina smiles. “And Emma,” she confirms.

Henry nods twice, satisfied with her answer. “Can we watch a movie tonight?” he asks, like they haven’t discussed something lifechanging, something that still unbalances Regina when she dares to think about it.

Becoming _good_ , dating the Saviour, sharing her son. 

Emma slides back into her chair and clears her throat. “Captain Marvel?” she asks Henry, so easily slipping into this new normal as she holds Regina’s hand over the table in plain sight of their son who barely bats an eyelid.

“I was thinking Shrek. I like the idea of an Ogre wooing a Princess.”

“Your mother is a Princess,” Regina finds herself saying. “Perhaps, we should find her an Ogre.”

“Too late,” Emma quips, raising their joined hands, “I already snagged myself a grumpy witch.”

Laughter, pure and innocent, fills the room. Henry doubles over, leaning heavily into Regina’s side as he giggles at her expense. And Regina finds that she can’t be offended by it, not if her son sounds unburdened for the first time in years.

:::

Snow asks for help too late in the process. She’s drowning in paperwork and pulled in different directions from people who walk all over her.

Regina finds Snow seated at her old desk, head in her hands as she tries not to cry. “Bad day?”

“Regina!” Snow gasps, and it sounds a lot like relief. “Thank you for coming.”

She says deadpan, “I didn’t know I could decline.”

Because refusing Snow is a lot like torture. There’s teary looks and a whole lot of whining, and sometimes Snow throws in a bit of emotional blackmail that boasts about how accepting she’s been of Regina and Emma dating. It’s that last one that made Regina grit her teeth and agree to help if only to keep the peace.

Gathering up papers and shuffling them into various files, Snow scoffs. “You couldn’t.”

Regina takes a seat and leans back into the chair, trying to look nonchalant about being friendly with her old enemy. Sometimes she thinks that this back and forth between them seems off, like one of them should be choking the other just to say _well_. But Snow slides a few folders her way, and Regina is thrown into this new world of chaos.

“There are more people that want to leave than we thought. But they also want to take whatever wealth they have with them. We don’t know what the state of the Enchanted Forest is, whether it is conducive to living, if the ogres have come back. Regina, we know _nothing_.”

And there it is. Blatant and glaring, all the trials and tribulations of a leader. “You’re the Queen,” Regina mocks, if only to keep up appearances. “Shouldn’t you have an answer?”

Placing her palms on the desk, Snow exhales. She says, “I know we have history, but for the sake of this town and the people in it, I need your help. You’ve dealt with inquisitions during your time as Queen, and you have knowledge on magic. Besides,” she purposefully adds, “you’re the only one I trust with this.”

Before, Regina would have thought it all to be lies. But Snow looks at her like she isn’t a foe anymore, like Emma’s happiness rests on her shoulders. “Fine,” Regina agrees, glancing at the folders spread out before her. “The first thing you’d do is send out a small team to scope the area, give them a time frame to report back, and then start sending people in small batches if the inquisition team says the Old Land is inhabitable.”

Snow starts writing everything down, hanging on Regina’s every word as she speaks.

They take down names, calculate wealth, and sort people into groups. Builders, handymen, plumbers, engineers, all of them go first. Each skill valued at the price of whatever needs to be built, all the materials to paid for by the monarchs that sit on their wealth here in Storybrooke.

“We’re creating jobs,” Snow says in awe.

“No,” Regina says, knowing she’s got her work cut out for her, “we’re creating an entire realm.”

:::

A book flies against the wall with a thud, followed by another and another, until Regina sees Emma scramble back onto the stairs, narrowly avoiding being hit with one. “Woah!”

“Useless!” Regina screeches. “All of them fucking useless!”

She promised Snow an entire realm whilst on the high of power, and now here Regina is, with no idea on how to keep the portal open long enough for the inquisition team to explore and report back.

Emma treads into the vault with care, sidestepping all the abused books and scrolls that litter the floor like mines. Gently, she asks, “Anything I can help with?”

Regina presses her hands to her head and closes her eyes against a pounding headache. “Unless you can find a way for the portal to open and close on the whims of your mother, then we might be sending people to their death if the Ogres are back.”

“Like Shrek?” Emma asks excitedly.

Regina glares at her. “No. Far worse. Like that troll from Harry Potter but with two eyes and far more intelligence.”

“Oh.”

“Precisely.”

Emma pulls her into an amorous embrace, her intent clear when she drops her chin on Regina’s shoulder and says, “You’re not going to get any work done with a headache. And don’t deny you don’t have one.”

Regina slowly closes her mouth and looks at Emma with a fierce glare. “I am perfectly capable of working through a headache. I’ve been through worse.”

It’s an opening for a fight, an easy way to let off some steam in a form they’re familiar with. Emma should take the bait, but she presses a kiss to Regina’s temple and murmurs, “I know a cure that’s fun.” Her voice dips into something low, travels down Regina’s spine and curls in her belly like a sleeping dragon. Taking her silence as permission, Emma tenderly kisses behind her ear, growing bolder as she moves down to Regina’s neck and sucks on her pulse point.

A gasp escapes her, the sound needy even to her own ears. Just as she gets a hold of herself to turn in Emma’s arms and tell her to stop, that’s when Emma kisses her. A cure, she had called it, but Regina thinks this _want_ is a curse when she’s pushed against the table, touched over her clothes like she’s something to be savoured.

“No, no, no…” she husks, finally pushing Emma back to hold her at arms’ length. “If we start, we won’t stop. And I need to focus on this happy ending or there won’t be any time for ours.”

“I could help,” Emma offers. Regina scoffs and returns to her discarded books. “I mean it. We closed the portal together the last time, how hard can it be to open one again?”

Regina leans against the stone podium and gestures at Emma. “If you were a trained witch, perhaps. But your magic is unpredictable, and it works solely on your emotion instead of your intent.”

“And didn’t you say _magic is emotion_ ,” Emma mocks. “I’d say my emotions are very clear these days.” Called out, dragged across the mud, and left there as a feast for the vultures—this is what Emma does to her when she stands there looking smug, running her thumb across her fingers as she peers at her nails. “What’s the term?” she asks, looking at Regina with her smirk widening into a smile. “Ah, yes. Magic fingers you said—”

Self-control is not something Regina finds she possesses around Emma Swan. This cockiness, a arrogant something that Emma carries around her is Regina’s weakness, and when she pulls Emma into her, Regina knows she’s lost whatever game this was.

This time, it’s Emma that bumps into the table, whose clothes get torn off and tossed around the vault, and who gasps in surprise as Regina kneels for her. “Your work?” Emma asks between her moans.

“Later,” Regina grunts, and spreads Emma’s legs wider apart.

…

“You really thought of everything, huh?”

Regina hums at Emma’s breathless remark. They lay in bed, spent from a round of lovemaking that, true to Emma’s word, has cured her headache. Her skin cools as Emma drags a discarded sheet over their bodies and settles against Regina’s side, placing a tender kiss to her chest before she rests her cheek there.

“The vault is very well equipped,” Regina purrs, lowering her hand over Emma’s back to idly trace patterns over her sweat slicked skin. “I could lock you up here, have you chained to the wall for my pleasure if I wanted.”

Emma slips her leg over Regina’s, drags her knee up until her thigh is pressed intimately against Regina’s centre. She swallows a moan but doesn’t give into temptation. “How very…Evil Queen of you.” Like a lover possessed, snagged onto the newness of something, Emma’s hands begin to wander again, and her lips trace along Regina’s jaw and neck with all the challenge of arousal.

Laughing, because Regina has been here before. In a castle with a woman who had lost her spark, who kissed like she had every intention of stealing Regina’s fire. And before that, with a boy who worked in the stables and treated her like a fragile bird, kissing her like she might break. But here Emma is, offering nothing but equal fervour, taking and giving like it was all meant for her.

“This,” she husks between kisses, “is not fair.”

“Don’t go soft on me now, Madame Mayor.”

A moan catches at the back of her throat when Emma presses her thigh more firmly against her, a wicked grin on her lips. “As much as I would love to ravish you again, dear. I have work to do.” And yet, she makes no move other than to roll her hips into Emma, to selfishly steal what has been placed before her.

“Then work,” Emma taunts in a low voice. And maybe, Regina might’ve been able to rise to the challenge; but Emma shifts, and she feels wetness against her own thigh that traps her words behind an appreciative whimper. “Tell me what you’d need to keep a portal open.”

The sheet is kicked aside, strewn across the floor like a forgotten lover. Regina grabs Emma’s thighs to aid her in speeding things along, to make her move faster instead of teasing her like this with work, and spells, and portals that may never open.

“I don’t know,” she snaps.

“What would be ideal?”

“I just said,” Regina grinds out, and Emma stops moving entirely. Desperate, Regina drops her head back onto the pillows and uses her own strength to try and reverse their positions. But Emma holds steady, keeping them in place even as Regina squirms. “Fuck!”

“And that’s exactly what I’ll do once you tell me what you need.”

Furious, she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “A perfect portal would be a magic bean, but they don’t exist anymore. Now stop playing games, Miss Swan and—”

“I saw a bean!” Emma interrupts, wide eyed and hopeful. “I saw it somewhere I swear to God.” Scrambling to get off from her, Emma trips over the sheet as she reaches for her clothes. She’s a blur, a woman on a mission as she dresses herself and searches for her phone.

“Emma?” Regina calls, still naked and horny. “Emma! Emma, Come back here!”

A mess of blonde curls pokes through the doorway, and Regina relaxes into the bed with a playful look. She crooks her finger, promising things too sinful to say aloud.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna say this,” Emma painfully groans. “But you need to get dressed.” Tossing Regina’s clothes at her, Emma hops on one leg as she pulls on her boots, a gleeful smile on her face as she says, “I’m going to give you something better than an orgasm.”

Dragging her clothes up to her body in a show of modesty, Regina sneers at Emma. “You had better.”

…

She gapes at the display. Rows and rows of beans, each stored differently, and perfectly preserved. “These are not what I’m looking for, Sheriff,” she tells Emma.

A hand comes into view as she bends to inspect a red bean vine, a small vial placed in front of her with a blackened bean that looks devoid of any life. “What about this?” Emma asks. “Why would he keep a dead bean?”

Regina takes the vial in a gentle grasp, holds it up to the light to inspect as one would a precious gem. There is no life within it, no ounce of magic left, but the shape, the size, the density— “Gold was obsessed with portals, if he truly had a magic bean, he would have found a way to revive it.”

“Yes,” David adds, “but you know as well as I do that magic beans only work as a medium between worlds _with_ magic. If Gold wanted to come to this land, the bean would have been useless. Hence…”

“The curse,” Regina completes in a whisper.

Emma crosses her arms over her chest and clears her throat. “When I gave Ashley back her baby, Gold asked me for a favour in return.” Two sets of eyes settle on Emma as she shifts uncomfortably. “He asked me, just before I decided to leave town, to find someone for him.”

Clutching the vial in a loose grip, Regina turns to face Emma fully. She asks, “Who?” and fears the answer for no reason at all.

“His son,” Emma says, shrugging like there’s nothing wrong. “I figured I’d do it the night before I left, then leave whatever I’d found with Gold. But Henry came to see me that same day, and dessert didn’t go down so well, plus a curse was broken, so...”

The vial in Regina’s hand cracks at the memory of what she’s done, and shards of glass splinter into her hand until blood drips from her wounds. “ _So_ , his son was in this land,” she says evenly. “It makes sense.” Because as much as they were villains, when it comes to their children, they’re willing to do almost anything, even if it means punishing themselves to set things right.

But Rumple could have told her. She would have understood, she would have had a purpose greater than holding a grudge and hanging onto a loss that should have healed over time. He used her, and she _hates_ him for it.

Squeezing the glass until it turns into dust, Regina opens her palm and sprinkles the remains next to her feet, the wooden floor dotting with her blood that carries the stench of her magic. Emma and David watch her with matching expressions of worry, but Regina doesn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with either of them right now.

Just as she opens the door to let herself out, that tiny bell jingling cheerily at her exit, Regina stands on her toes and rips the blasted thing out. “You’re right,” she says, looking at the bell in her hand, “this was better than an orgasm.”

When she walks away, all she hears is Emma’s spluttering that’s drowned out by the slam of the door.

:::

Archie sits with his hands clasped over his knees, his posture open and inviting, an aura of non-judgement that Regina doesn’t quite believe.

She had come here a few days after learning about Gold’s son, after such knowledge had unearthed her own failures as a mother. And no one knows she’s here, but the thought that anyone could find out is enough for her to tense up, for her words to stick at the back of her throat and refuse to come out.

“What’s bothering you, Regina?” Archie asks, because they’ve gone down the whole ‘ _What did you come here for?_ ’ routine and Regina has failed to answer it. “In this very moment, what worries you.”

A small something, something present. Regina licks her lips and pulls her bag closer to her chest. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”

“And why is that?”

She looks at Archie sharply, because yes, she signed up for therapy because all these _feelings_ are affecting her, but to be badgered? She will not tolerate it. “Because you’re a fake,” she hisses. “You’re a cricket chirping in Pinocchio’s ear, telling him he’s a _real_ boy. I gave you this life, I gave you your Ph.D.”

Regina stands, tired and bitter and envious of people who can trust so easily. But Archie sighs as he takes his notebook out and starts writing. He says, “If you do not move through whatever is making you feel angry or hurt, you will not only make yourself suffer, but the people who love you as well.”

“Did Henry say something?”

Her exit has been halted, sabotaged by a man who knows too much about her family. “Your son has been coming to me for years, but the reason you walked through my door today isn’t because of him. And I suspect, whatever you want to work through is for _your_ betterment, and others will benefit as much as you do.”

The doorknob twists in her grasp. She’s ready to say she tried. to let her anger simmer behind her eyes and release through her magic. But Emma has been more concerned lately, had chided her for crushing that vial and placed gentle kisses along her fingertips as she bandaged the wound. This much she can do for her family.

“Rumple has a son,” she says, still facing the door. “He made me who I am, treated me like a daughter, only to sacrifice me for a child he lost.”

“How does that make you feel?” comes the question, but Regina stutters over her answer. “What are you feeling right now, this very second?” Archie asks, and Regina can hear him shift in his seat.

Anger, hatred, relief, a whole host of emotions, but the one that makes her lean her forehead against the door, her palm flat against the wood, that’s the one that spills from her lips in a sob. “ _Betrayed_.”

A box of tissues comes into her view. Regina takes a handful to hide her weakness behind it. “You are allowed to feel it. Acknowledge it. Now ask yourself why.”

Shaking her head, Regina turns from the door to face the empty couch. “I don’t know,” she cries, wiping away her tears that have no sense for her good name. “He made me give up everything for magic. He made me use it once, and I _said_ —I told him I didn’t want it again, but he pushed. Made it look like it was my choice when he handpicked me to do his dirty work.”

And this is what she did to Emma, Regina realises. Pushed and pushed, and now Emma is in her bed, helping her open portals and find happy endings with magic she doesn’t want. “Oh God,” she says into the tissues, “Oh God, I’ve made a mistake.”

Archie frowns. “A mistake?” he probes.

It would be easy for Regina to tell him, to expose her relationship with Emma and all the things they’ve said to each other. But for this, she keeps it close to her chest. Walking further into the practice, Regina takes a seat on the couch and wipes her face until she’s satisfied there is no evidence of her tears. She says, “I know what I’ve done. I know the pain I’ve caused. But finding out Rumple used me, that he made me who I am for something so petty—there were other ways, better ways. I don’t want to be like him anymore.”

Reclaiming his seat on the armchair, Archie sets the box of tissues down in front of her. He’s silent for a long time, gives her space to breathe before he speaks again. “When you say you don’t want to be like him…how do you think you are similar to him?”

His frown makes her think, makes her search her past until she remembers treating Henry like a student rather than her son, of her utter disregard for anyone who didn’t serve her purpose, and for using magic like it was nothing, like it had no price attached to it when it took so much from her.

“My reason.” Her words come out as a rasp, threatening another bout of tears that Regina tries to hold back. “It was petty.”

“Was it?” Archie’s voice sounds faraway, submerged under water as Regina presses her hands to her stomach and leans forward, her gaze cast down to her boots. “What do you think was petty about it, Regina?”

“Everything! Hating a child, killing people, blaming Snow White for years all because I loved my mother too much!” Her hands tremble, and her nose leaks to compensate for the lack of tears. “I loved Rumple, too. And I couldn’t blame them, because they said they loved me back, that they knew what was best. But they didn’t. They _didn’t_.”

This time, when Regina cries, she shakes with grief for all the love that’s lost, for all the people who never knew what to do with it. Her mother killed Daniel, Rumple used her grief against her, and the world watched as she burned and was reborn as the Evil Queen.

All but one. The only one who saw Regina.

…

“Emma?”

“In here!”

Regina walks into the storeroom, feeling emotionally drained and armed with one too many revelations. “Hi,” she breathes, leaning against the doorway.

“Hey,” Emma greets, smiling at her with lazy knowing. She has multiple cabinets open, with folders scattered across the small desk in the middle of the room. “I’m getting a few files for Snow, and then we can get Henry from David for his first official night at our place.”

“Our place?”

Emma shrugs, embarrassed. “I figured since I was the one who stole it, and you’re living there, and now—”

“Stop, _please_ ,” Regina begs. This is the person who would give up everything for her, who would jump realms and use magic, and _stay_ for her. Emma is the one who will listen, who drops her task and turns to her with worry. “You don’t have to do it,” Regina rasps, forcing the words out through uneven breaths.

“What are you—”

“Magic.” Stepping further into the room, Regina lowers her voice to a guilty whisper. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to use it. I can teach you techniques to keep it under control, to keep it contained. You won’t have to pay any price for it.” 

Emma’s brows crease, like she isn’t sure if they’re fighting or not. “I love you,” she says, brushing her thumb over Regina’s chin, “but I’m getting a little worried here.”

Her eyes flutter closed, savouring those words that are said so casually between them now. “Don’t let me force you,” Regina rasps, “don’t let me make you—don’t…” She takes a stuttering breath, her forehead resting against Emma’s shoulder as she draws strength from her. Emma pulls her into an embrace, holds her together as she breaks into tiny pieces.

“I won’t,” Emma promises, “I’m too fucking stubborn to do anything I don’t want to do.”

“Good,” Regina snorts, appeased and reassured. Lifting her head, she steals a tender kiss, makes it last too long. But Emma’s body is still wrought with tension, and Regina feels too raw to try and explain herself.

“Do you want to keep me company whilst I look for all those files?”

There are no demands to talk more, to add a backstory to her outburst, and Regina stops herself from sobbing in relief. “I’d like that,” she says, and doesn’t comment on their role reversal as Emma silently gives her what she needs.

:::

Henry is sitting at the dining table with his books spread out in front of him. Regina has been helping him with his fractions for the last half hour, and they finally finish off the activity just as Emma returns from her afternoon patrol.

“Hard at work?” Emma asks with a laugh.

Regina watches her remove her jacket and toss it over the back of the couch. It’s done so coolly, without thought or care for the roles they played for each other before. She says, “Don’t be so quick, dear. English is next and you’re up.”

Patting Henry’s English book, Regina stands to greet Emma with a peck to her lips.

“You’re not allowed,” Henry grumbles. Regina’s heart sinks as she turns toward her son, but his gaze is focused on his books with an intensity Regina knows he inherited from her. “Help first, kisses later.”

Pulling out the chair, Emma takes Regina’s seat and sets her badge on the table. “How many will you give me?” she asks him. Another thing that’s accepted, healed over, and passed along as Regina freezes at the slightest hint of rejection.

A breath of relief escapes her when Henry laughs, loud and boisterous. But just as quickly as laughter fills the room, so too does it descend into silence. Henry holds up a finger and says deadpan, “One.”

Regina can’t help it then, that she laughs at Emma’s shocked expression and kisses the top of Henry’s head in amusement. “I’ll get you something to eat,” she says, squeezing Emma’s shoulder as she passes by to the kitchen.

When she turns back at the touch to her hand, she sees affection in Emma’s gaze. A stark contrast to the worry that was there the other day, when Regina had choked on her emotions and sat in the station’s storeroom in silence, finding files for Snow’s inquisition team.

“So,” Henry says, pushing a book across the table to Emma, “what do you know about The Indian in the Cupboard?”

Emma releases her arm with only a mild look of fear. “Uh,” Regina hears as she makes her way to the kitchen, “that was a movie, right?”

“It was made into a _movie_?!” Henry yells, his voice cracking at the end. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

…

After dinner, Emma had told Henry to finish reading his book with the promise that they would watch the movie when he was done. It was all a ploy to get her alone in the kitchen, Regina knows Emma’s mischievous looks and heavy silences too well.

“What is it?”

Shrugging, Emma wipes the plates and sets them in the cupboard. She says, “Nothing,” but her voice sounds too pitchy, riddled with all its lies.

Regina gives her a look.

“Okay fine. I’m worried about you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Finishing up, Regina wipes down the sink and washes her hands. “No,” she says, “that’s not what I wanted to hear.” Emma packs the last spoon away, diligently folds the dishtowel into the oven handle, and Regina finds her irresistible like this. Domestic. “What I want to hear is how good dinner was, how good dessert will be.”

Regina tugs Emma to her, teasingly ghosts her lips over Emma’s as promise of what might come. But Emma pulls away and says, “Henry is staying over. You wouldn’t dare ruin any progress you’ve made with him by sleeping with me in the next room.” And she’s caught out again, shown a cracked mirror with all the broken pieces of her that don’t fit quite right anymore.

Seducing a woman to get what she wants. Regina isn’t that person, not now, not after everything she’s done to change.

“You don’t have to talk. I just need to know if you’re okay.” For this, Emma kisses her on the forehead, tender and sweet, and all the things that come with that jacket still on her couch, and sharing homework responsibilities, and doing the dishes together, and—

“I went to see Archie,” Regina blurts out. It stops the torrent of thoughts pounding in her head, and her mouth spills words without her permission when Emma looks at her like she hung the moon. “Because of Gold. Because he has a son he never told me about. A son he _ruined_ me for.”

She knows she sounds spiteful, but Emma _listens_. Her hands are taken in a gentle hold, and Regina is guided to sit on the stool behind the counter. The ground feels unsteady as everything starts to spill out, but Emma keeps her close, encourages her to continue with a gentle tug of her fingers.

“I forgot,” Regina husks, her eyes closing as she inhales sharply, like the memory still lingers in the air. “I forgot how he made me think magic was my own choice. He told me sweet lies about the power it would bring me, but I was always powerless.” She laughs at her innocence, at where it’s gotten her now. “I wanted to bring back the dead. He told me it was impossible, and I was ready to give up magic if it couldn’t help me. I wanted to stop, but…”

But she’s reminiscing with her current lover over her past one. Taking Daniel’s name like he means more to her than he does. She’s mourned him for decades, yet the results of it keep coming back to haunt her.

“What happened, then?”

Her gaze picks up to Emma. “Jefferson.”

A flicker of guilt crosses Emma’s face at the name. It brings back memories of when they first started giving back happy endings, how horrible they had been to each other over poisoned pastries and wishes of death. Look at them now, holding hands in their kitchen.

“Doctor Whale,” Regina exhales, “is Doctor Frankenstein. He was presented to me through Jefferson who had somehow caught wind of my desire to bring back the dead. I thought my dreams had come true. It was all a farce, of course. Rumple planted Jefferson in my path, offered me the chance to bring this scientist to my realm who had powers beyond our understanding. They put on a show for me,” she chuckles, laughing through her pain despite the tears that cling to her eyelashes. “Whale stole the beating heart he didn’t use on Daniel, Jefferson got riches for transporting him between realms with that damned hat, and Rumple got _me_. Broken, and alone, and angry that I was helpless.”

Emma still looks stunned. Regina searches her face for any hatred, but she finds none. “Is that why you insisted I accept my magic?” Emma asks in a small whisper. “You didn’t want me to feel powerless?”

“You are not powerless,” Regina snaps, like the thought alone is preposterous. “I didn’t want it to rule you, like it ruled me.”

“From where I’m sitting,” Emma breathes, “magic has never ruled you.”

“Oh?”

“No matter for whom you fight, for whatever cause, it’s always been about love.” Emma shrugs, her smile bringing out her dimple. “Even if your methods are a bit unorthodox, I mean—”

Regina kisses her, and she doesn’t know why, only that it feels right. She’s not broken or hopeless or powerless anymore. Not in Emma Swan’s presence. Not when she’s kissed back with gentleness, a touch of magic accompanying the action.

Emma whispers against her lips, “You love me.” Regina guffaws when she pulls back, but her fingers are still intertwined with Emma’s, and Regina finds that she doesn’t want to go too far anyways.

She says, “Maybe,” and tugs them along to the lounge where their son awaits.


	10. Merciful individuals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Bodily harm by magic.

The call comes in the middle of the night. “Hello?” Regina croaks.

“ _The hat_!” Emma yells into the phone. “Jefferson’s hat can cross realms!”

Regina rubs her eyes and slowly sits up in bed. It’s too early for this. “What?”

“During the curse,” Emma continues at a rapid pace, “Jefferson had kidnapped me and told me to make a hat, told me _I_ was magic. And then you said he used the hat to bring Whale to your realm. We can use that, right? We can open portals with it?”

Her mouth open and closes like a fish out of water. The solution has been right under her nose this entire time and Regina has been oblivious, too consumed with her own issues to see the bigger picture. Leaning back into the bed, Regina adjusts her pillow and chuckles with relief. “Sometimes, my dear,” she purrs into the phone, “you are quite the genius.”

Emma says, “Am I now?” and Regina submits to this game with her hand down her underwear and Emma in her ear as they wait out the hours until Town Hall opens.

:::

The hat sits on the boardroom table in front of Jefferson who looks at it with fear. “I can’t,” he tells them, “I just got my Grace back. I won’t leave her again.”

Regina grinds her teeth together and quells every instinct to insult this man raw. Snow is the one in charge of this operation, and it’s her who pushes the hat to the side and looks Jefferson in the eyes. “You’d do anything for your child,” she says, and there’s those poisonous words of kindness that Regina sneers at just slightly. “I know what that’s like. But we’re on the brink of righting everything, and we need your help.”

“She needs your help,” Regina says, “you like helping, don’t you?”

They may have buried the hatchet and Jefferson may have stood up for her in court, but they’re both a little bitter and things like this take time.

He glances at the hat, then looks up at Regina. “How long?” He asks, and she can’t hide her surprise fast enough.

“A week. Long enough for the inquisition team to scout the area and come back.” Snow clutches David’s arm, and Emma looks down at her shoes as she leans into Regina for support. “I will be joining you in good faith.”

“The hell you will.”

The Charmings look to her in alarm, and Snow shakes her head for Regina to be quiet. But she’s never done what Snow wanted and she’s not starting now.

Emma whispers in her ear, “Regina, it’s okay.” But it _isn’t_. They’ve all only just found each other, and now Snow is going to throw it away? Biting her tongue, Regina reaches for Emma’s hand and uses it as an anchor.

“What happens when you find the Enchanted Forest is a place you’d like to live in permanently? The rules of the hat dictate that the number that goes in, must be the number that comes out. And I’m sure, your Majesty, that taking fifty in, not all will want to come back when I intend to return home.”

Another problem, another issue for Regina to pick apart and cry over.

Snow slides the hat back to Jefferson, leaves it on his end of the table and gestures for him to take it. “Let us worry about that. But for now, I need to know what’s on the other side, and after that, the hat, and the decision to help is solely yours.”

Jefferson tentatively pulls the hat toward him, and Regina’s lip curls up into a snarl as she watches her property returned to its owner. After Emma gaped at her for having the hat this entire time, she had said something about this being the ‘right thing to do’, and Regina is a weak woman when it comes to Saviours and their self-righteousness.

“One week,” Jefferson agrees, “and that’s all.”

And just like that, another villain promptly redeemed.

:::

Henry sits between them on the couch, tucked into the crook of Emma’s arm with his legs over Regina’s lap. They’re watching some animation that Regina has barely paid any attention to, her thoughts too scattered to think beyond Emma’s fingers that rest lightly in her palm, placed there like an afterthought where Regina has her hand over Henry’s back.

His things are packed away in his room, taken from the loft, and settled here in this house that Regina has started to think of as hers. After Jefferson agreed to the terms, Snow had put things into motion faster than Regina could keep up with.

One moment she was standing in the Mayoral office, and the next she was sent to collect Henry from school whilst Emma stuffed his things in a bag with a stony expression that hasn’t left her face since. This tiny bit of affection, where Emma skims her thumb across the back of Regina’s hand, that’s the only thing that makes Regina relax.

“He’s out like a light,” Emma whispers, removing her hand from Regina’s hold to brush Henry’s hair from his face.

It’s muscle memory when Regina stands up from the couch, grasps Henry under the arms and carries him like he weighs almost nothing. “Help me open his covers.”

Emma stumbles as she walks backward into Henry’s room, keeping Regina in her sight as if she’ll fall. The covers pulled back, Regina gently eases Henry down onto the bed and releases a sigh of relief. He’s gotten heavier since she did this last, and her muscles scream at her for being put under strain.

Tucked in and kissed goodnight, they close the door halfway to block out the light from the passage and leave their son to rest. “You’re stronger than you look,” Emma comments in a whisper.

She clicks her tongue and rolls her shoulders, already anticipating the pain. “It used to be easier.” Emma smiles, no doubt trapped in a vision of Regina carrying Henry when was younger, of all the times that she was absent. Regina cups her cheek, catches her gaze once more. “Are you coming to bed?”

A kiss is pressed to her palm. “I want to be alone for a bit.”

“Okay,” Regina agrees, and leaves Emma to her devices as she goes about her night-time routine.

…

Light spills into her bedroom from the open door, a shadow set within it that hovers at the threshold. Regina watches, silent as she pulls her covers back in invitation. “Couldn’t sleep?’ she asks.

Emma’s hair is braided away from her face, her arms on display compliment of the tank top she wears. Regina watches, spellbound, as Emma glides toward the bed, crawls up her legs until her face is inches away from Regina’s. “Kiss me,” she demands.

A plea from the damned, from the depths of hurt and pain. Weaving her hands under Emma’s arms, Regina tugs her down until Emma is forced to settle her weight, to tuck her head underneath Regina’s chin and feel warmth when the covers are pulled over her.

“Not tonight,” Regina breathes, her eyes already closing as she strokes her fingers through Emma’s hair and undoes her braid. “Your mother will be fine,” she whispers into the night, her words a secret that’s stolen by the dark. “She evaded me for years, she still does. Whatever is or isn’t in the Enchanted Forest, Snow White can handle it. That much I know.”

Emma relaxes against her, becomes light where she was once heavy, and the edges of her soften where it’s pressed against Regina. “I love you,” is murmured into her neck, a fleeting thing that’s so easily said. But Regina cherishes this one, shelves it alongside the others and flags it as important.

The kiss she denied is gently taken, and Regina allows Emma to press forward after she hesitates, searching Regina’s eyes for permission. A languid thing, lazy and knowing in the way they move together, suspended in a bubble where no one else exists.

They don’t ask for more from each other, do not take what they can’t handle when the night is still young and there’s a world of loss to be had tomorrow. Instead, Emma shifts her weight onto the bed and drags Regina’s arm with her, trapping it against her abdomen.

Without thought, Regina follows, holds Emma’s back against her front, and welcomes sleep like an old friend.

:::

It’s a small affair despite the curiosity around it. Eight people have been meticulously chosen by Snow and her council; the decision of which Regina was not a part of. She’s only lucky her faith in Red’s happy ending was minimal, and that bracelet she made on a whim comes in handy now.

“For someone adamantly against magic, I didn’t think you’d sign up.”

Red raises an eyebrow at that. “As you said, there’s a whole world out there. I can’t sit around waiting for things to change. I figured it’s either I get jailed and given community service—” Regina glares at her. “Or go out there and find my own happiness. It’s a prison either way, right?”

Emma stands with Snow and David, Henry tucked under her arm as they say their goodbyes. “No,” Regina says softly. “Not everything is a prison. True freedom can be found.” She clears her throat, trying to dislodge the sappiness that has somehow found its way there. Taking Red’s hand, Regina places the pouch with the bracelet in her palm.

She makes to leave, to take her emotions and escape, but Red chuckles at her. “It’s found in love, right?” she asks, tossing the pouch up and down as if to weigh it.

“Use it,” Regina says, unwilling to expose herself further. To give Red an answer that’s not as wistful or celebrated as love. She says, “It will allow you complete control over your wolf,” and doesn’t talk about trust and how it combats the loneliness.

Red considers the pouch, tentative as she removes the bracelet. How easy it would be for Red to claim this as an unwarranted gift from the Evil Queen, have the town riot against her again on the basis of heresy. But the bracelet is daintily clipped on, and the crowd witnesses Red gasp as the magic washes over her skin, her eyes glowing briefly before it settles back into its usual colour.

She shifts into a wolf, large and imposing before Regina who remains still. When Red turns back, fully clothed and impossibly human, she laughs like she’s found her own freedom. “Thank you,” she says, her words dripping with appreciation.

A nod is all Regina can manage.

When she makes her way to her family, Emma leans into her side with a strained smile and tries for humour. “Look at you,” Emma breathes. “Spreading happiness and making friends.”

“Please,” Regina scoffs, playing along with this game. “This is all part of my master plan.”

“Does your master plan include tapas for dinner?”

“It might,” she considers. Her voice betrays her. It scratches into something too low, holds a timbre of emotion as she considers how far she’s come. To earn such trust, to be given such advocacy without the threat of the Saviour—Regina never thought it would be possible.

Emma bumps her shoulder. “Hey,” she says once she’s gotten Regina’s attention. “We’ll be okay.”

Regina sighs, shaking her head at Emma’s concern. She says, “You’ll get your tapas,” and pulls them away from heavy topics that might make one or both of them cry.

Emma kisses her square on the mouth, her lips lingering with the familiarity that can only come from doing this too often. “You’re the best.” It’s said with a sentiment that Regina doesn’t understand, weighty behind the kiss that was far too affectionate.

Someone wolf whistles, a few people clap, and Regina realises what Emma’s just done. “I-I didn’t mean—”

“I am not ashamed to be with you,” Regina whispers, conviction in her words. Emma stops breathing at that, pauses at an inhale as her eyes fill with tears. Regina remembers asking Emma about broken promises, about someone who couldn’t keep them after they had saved each other. Stroking Emma’s cheek, she says, “I promise,” and Emma kisses her hand.

When they move apart to make room for Snow, Regina feels Emma’s tears on her fingertips. She curls her fingers into a fist, holds Emma’s emotions in her palm and vows to never break her promises. This much she can do for the woman she loves.

…

“You’ll take care of them, won’t you?” Snow asks her once they’re alone.

There’s no need for teary goodbyes and heartfelt well wishes. They have too much history between them for such trivial things. Instead, they ask for what they need, and hope the other will comply.

“I will,” Regina promises. “You take care of yourself. I can’t imagine what David would do without you.” Snow smiles at the hidden sentiment, but she doesn’t do more than stand there, looking forlorn. “Oh for—”

Tugging Snow to her, Regina chokes on her words as she hugs her enemy. She feels their rivalry dissolve, making room for roles and relationships that start anew. After the price they’ve both paid, it seems fitting that they scrub their slate clean, that the cuts of their history might still linger, but they’re clear of animosity that will only hurt them both if they hold onto it.

When Snow pulls away to stand beside Jefferson, Regina blinks back tears. The hat is lifted in the air, and Henry watches with rapt attention, only his head visible beneath David’s arm as he’s used an anchor for David’s loss. Regina allows it, if only because Henry leans into the hug, makes himself comfortable beside his grandfather who tries not to cry.

“Stand back!” Jefferson bellows.

On instinct, Regina shifts back with everyone else, an individual in a crowd who belongs just as much as them. The hat spins and expands along the grass until the portal is large enough to take one person at a time.

Red jumps in first after saluting the crowd, and the rest of them follow in a similar pattern until it’s only Snow and Jefferson left standing. People bow, giving the respect Regina craved for herself to their true queen. The one who rules with compassion, who asks for help when she’s out of her depth. Snow beams at the crowd, stepping forward toward the portal that welcomes her with swirling hues of purple.

“Wait!” Uncaring of boundaries or the whirling portal, Emma runs toward her mother and engulfs her in an embrace. They stay like that for a while, with Snow whispering sweet nothings into her daughter’s ear, and Emma holding on like she might be losing her parent all over again. Regina doesn’t dare listen in, but Emma says, “Bye, Mom,” and she watches as pure joy overcomes Snow’s features.

When Snow finally jumps in with Jefferson following quickly after, the field is silent. Only Emma remains in the centre, shrugging at Regina with a flimsy smile that crumples into distress. For this, it’s David who goes to her, who comforts his daughter as he suffers from the same loss.

:::

There’s a scab on the flesh of her thumb. It itches, but Regina presses her hands together and tries not to pick at it. She’s a grown woman, she will not succumb to something that shouldn’t have such power over her.

“If only you didn’t destroy that bean,” Blue sighs, disappointment dripping from her voice.

Regina flexes her fingers. “You can barely size your head for your body when you transform, so forgive me if I didn’t consider your _powers_ when I crushed that bean.”

“We are perfectly in proportion!” The pint-sized nun hisses too loud, defends her fairies with too much oomph for Regina to believe a word of it.

Emma bites her lip to keep from laughing, but otherwise doesn’t dare look up at Blue who flies above them in her full fairy form. It’s been five days since Snow left with the inquisition team, and Regina is no closer to finding a solution to open and close the portal at will. The price it asks is too much, and Storybrooke will be put at risk each time the barrier breaks and mends.

After days of complaining, Emma’s suggestion to ask for help has resulted in this. With Doctor Whale and Mother Superior in her vault, each with their own agenda, but both equally talented in their own fields.

Clearing his throat, Whale brings over a scroll and unravels it in front of Regina. “Is this…” he asks, his eyes blown wide in awe, “how to project a soul into another body?”

She snatches the scroll from him and rolls it up before he can get any ideas. “And the price is as deadly as you think. Besides,” she snaps, sliding a relevant book his way, “we’re looking for ways to transport people in their entirety between realms. _Not_ souls.”

They fall silent thereafter. Afraid of the Evil Queen who snaps and snarls when they divert their attention to things beyond their mission. Eventually, they settle down, and even Blue transforms back to her full size to take a seat at the table, turning pages and reading scripts just like the rest of them.

“We did this once,” Blue comments, her gaze fixed on the book in front of her as she runs her fingers over the ink. Regina thinks she might’ve found something, but she says, “When you were going to cast your curse, we searched the entire realm for that one tree. Not even the Dark One knew about it.”

Regina bares her teeth. Yet another reason this curse was cast for nothing. If only Gold had known about the tree, he would have left her the hell alone. “And your point is?”

There is no point other than to get under her skin. Blue raises her eyebrow and the corner of her lips quirk up in a sadistic smile. “How do we know you’re not going to use this portal to your advantage? That you won’t take your son and disappear?” She cocks her head to the side, surveying Regina with too much knowing. “Once an Evil Queen, always an Evil Queen.”

“Hey!” Emma shouts, making the other three people in the room jump at the sound. “Why don’t you get your oversized head out of your arse and focus on the real problem at hand. It’s been months, and Regina has proven she can be trusted. You and your Sisters, however, seem to be sitting in your nunnery pointing blame and doing nothing. Now, it’s either you help us, or get out of our way. Because if you don’t…” Emma lets her sentence hang in the air, hover between them with the simmering rage of her magic that makes more of an appearance now.

Blue swallows but remains poised. Whale slow claps from the other side of the room. Whistling low, he pulls another scroll from the pigeon cubicle and slaps it against his palm. “The sex must be _real_ good for you to defend her Majesty.”

Regina doesn’t have time to breathe, let alone stop Emma from scrambling over the table to get to Whale. It isn’t a fist that hits him when he goes flying into the wall, but a torrent of books that smash against Whale’s side by Emma’s command. The stench of power in the air is intoxicating, and that threat Blue might’ve thought was a fluke seems very tangible now.

“Give it back,” Emma growls, holding her hand out to Whale who shakily reaches into his blazer pocket and produces the scroll to transfer souls. Regina gapes at him, clearly remembering setting it beside her on the table. “Now apologise,” Emma demands, her magic at the ready like the weapon it was designed to be.

“Emma,” Regina warns. Because darkness is a tempting thing, a seductive whisper that’s so easy to fall into. She won’t allow it to take another person she loves. “Emma, let him go.”

“I’m sorry, alright!” Whale screeches, his arms held up to protect his face as he crouches between the books. “I just want my brother back! That’s all I want!”

Grabbing Emma’s arm, Regina tugs her away from Whale who looks like he might have a torrent of papercuts to deal with. “Then help us,” she says. “Stealing and making snide remarks isn’t going to benefit anyone.” She glances at Blue who looks down at the floor in shame. “The sooner we find a way to open and close this portal with minimal damage, the easier it will be to find ways to other realms.”

Whale pushes himself up to stand, angry and hurt by a Saviour who doesn’t care for peace. “What about that damned tree she was talking about?”

Emma stiffens beside her. “No one can cross the barrier. We’d all forget why we ventured out there in the first place.” Whale and Blue look at Emma in question, until she says, “I came through just outside of Storybrooke. I guess that’s where the tree is.”

“It wouldn’t work anyways,” Blue says tentatively, clearly afraid of Emma who has proven herself to be a formidable opponent. “The tree is a one-way portal.”

Back to square one, thrown off the board into the trash can. Regina waves her fingers and the books go back to their original place. Whale’s appearance is righted, and his papercuts healed. She feels the sting of the price on her hands and endures Whale’s pain until it subsides into nothingness. When Emma touches her arm gently, Regina feels only the muted weight of Emma’s fingers.

“I’m sorry,” Emma says, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Blue closes the books on the table and laughs softly to herself. “If you plan on using your magic, Saviour, I suggest you learn how to control it.” When she changes into her fairy form and flies out, Regina can’t blame her for running away from this.

Whale runs his fingers through his hair and smooths out his collar. “Yes, Saviour,” he parrots, “control is key.” A cold breeze wafts into the vault once Whale leaves them alone, surrounded by knowledge that mocks them for all the things they still don’t know.

“I’m sorry,” Emma repeats. Her voice is nothing more than a whisper, a hoarse thing that dies in her throat when she tries to speak again.

Pins and needles prick at Regina’s skin as she regains feeling in her arm. “Relax. You used magic to voice your threat and it’s taking its price.” Regina waits for thirty seconds, counts down each heartbeat in her head until Emma exhales shakily and drops her forehead on Regina’s shoulder.

“Why can’t they see?” Emma asks. “Why can’t they see you the way _I_ see you?”

The sentiment is enough to make her sigh. Emma’s days of hiding behind Henry are over, and Regina finds that she likes this openness, where nothing is left unsaid. Cupping Emma’s cheeks, Regina says, “Because they’re blinded by their hatred. And they’re not wrong to hate me. Redemption takes time.”

Emma shrugs her off, no longer apologetic for her anger. She’s stiff when Regina reaches for her again, her jaw clenched with irritation. “I’m going to check on Dad,” Emma says, and follows Blue and Whale out. Regina tries not to ache over something she doesn’t understand, knowing this can’t be fixed with sweet words and tender touches. Some things demand time.

:::

Henry stands in the kitchen with one of Snow’s bows and a pack of arrows. “I’ve done all my homework, and all my chores are finished.”

Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, Regina sets a plate of cut up fruit on the counter. “Do you really want to learn how to use those?” she asks, because as much as he’s her son, Regina knows when it comes to throwing things, Henry has as much coordination as Emma. She still doesn’t know how Emma managed to defeat Maleficent by throwing her only weapon at a fire-breathing dragon,

He pouts. “You promised.”

Regina narrows her eyes at him, waiting for him to give up. But Henry maintains eye-contact and Regina finally admits that she’s lost this one. “One hour,” she relinquishes, and carries the plate of fruit outside with them.

She’s not as good as Snow, but her lessons on archery come rushing back to her from when she was a young Queen. Mother had insisted she remain naïve when it came to weaponry, but after sitting idle on a dais for a king, Regina had learnt to seduce the guards, allowed them to adjust her grip and feel like they were doing something great.

When she widens Henry’s stance and tells him to release the arrow between every inhale and exhale, she doesn’t feel like that young Queen anymore. She feels like the girl who would talk to her horses and make mud pies, telling them how she would teach her children everything she knew, keep them happy in a house filled with love.

On the fourth try, Henry’s arrow flies through the air and hits the corner of the target. He gapes at it, a smile spreading across his face as he looks up at her. “That was good, right?” he asks, seeking her approval.

Regina laughs through the ball of emotion in her chest. “That was excellent,” she breathes, kissing the top of his head. “Very soon, and you’ll be better than your grandmother.”

He blushes, embarrassed at the praise. “Maybe,” he drawls, notching another arrow with confidence. This one goes too high and hits the tree before falling with a thud.

At Henry’s pleading look, Regina raises an eyebrow at him, amused. “Part of being a good archer is knowing you can’t waste arrows. Go fetch them.”

Groaning, Henry stomps across the yard to retrieve his arrows, picking them up one by one to replenish his supply. He works effortlessly, practicing with devotion as his aim improves with each try, where he seeks Regina’s praise or correction. An hour passes, then two, and before Regina knows it, she’s laughing with Henry, and the plate of fruit is empty as she regals him with stories of her own archery failures.

“Did you really?” Henry gasps.

“Right through Maleficent’s hair. It was lodged there the entire day and she didn’t know.”

The sound of her son’s laughter makes her smile, makes her feel like everything might be right in the world. She hasn’t got the heart to ask him if he’s forgiven her yet, but sometimes he looks at her curiously, and Regina wonders what he might’ve heard or read that might change his perception of her. But lately, he’s been asking questions. So many questions. And her willingness to answer has only brought them closer.

For her son, Regina promises honesty. With every lie she dismantles, their relationship mends just a little, patched together by the truth they tell each other.

:::

“You look terrible.”

Snow huffs out a laugh. “Regina,” she greets, sounding lively.

They stand in the middle of Main Road where Jefferson’s portal had come through, all eight members of the inquisition team safe and unharmed except for needing a shower. Regina nods for everyone to approach their loved ones, deeming the area safe from any magical threats. People rush to embrace each other, trusting Regina’s judgement without question.

David rushes past her to embrace Snow. Are you okay?” he asks.

Snow smiles tiredly at him. “Just a little exhausted,” she admits.

Turning away from the pair as they kiss, Regina spots Emma standing by Granny’s, her thumbs hooked in her belt loops, longing etched on her face as she watches her parents. Regina walks over, careful with her approach. Everything between them has been fragile since they last spoke, delicate where they must deal with their individual issues and learn to adapt to being a unit.

The rose-tinted glasses have been removed, set aside for a future that requires them to be honest. “She’s okay,” Regina says softly, trying to filter out the guilt in her voice. No matter what Snow has found in the Enchanted Forest, she has no way to travel between realms.

Emma glances at her, but she returns to contemplate Snow who pulls Henry into a hug and listens to his enthusiastic story. If Regina were to correctly guess, he’s telling her about his archery practice. “I believe you,” Emma breathes. But when she turns to Regina, a battle waging behind her eyes, Regina thinks she finds her guilt mirrored in Emma’s gaze.

Regina nods toward Snow who searches the crowd for someone. “She’s looking for you.”

“I want to see you later,” Emma says over her. “Tonight.” Like a clandestine date, in the shadows that their loneliness dwells, where Emma has placed herself after her magic spoke for her.

Nodding her acceptance, Regina releases Emma from her company. From the outskirts, Regina watches the Charmings reunite, sees the way they embrace each other and weep; witnesses all eight families hold onto each other as they excitedly chatter about the future.

For all that her curse has taken, Regina wonders if she’ll ever stop being amazed by how much it’s given back too.

:::

Emma meets her at the docks. The sun hovers over the water, a ball of orange that promises a bright night. There are other places to do this, but this place by the water has been a source of calm for them from the beginning, and maybe it’s what Emma needs now.

“I heard Henry is a better archer than my mother.”

Regina chuckles as she shoves her hands into her coat pockets, keeping herself from latching onto Emma in an embrace like she’s so prone to doing these days. So much has changed, and Regina isn’t sure she was aware of them until things had started to feel good. She glances to her side, grateful and content for everything she has. She says, “He very well might be.”

“Yeah, well…he’s got great people around him.” Emma smiles at her, shrugging at her words like it doesn’t have any hidden meanings. “He’s going to be someone great.”

Unable to help herself, Regina gently takes Emma’s hand in her own and runs her thumb over Emma’s knuckles. “Are we okay?” she asks softly, because it’s been a while since they used Henry as a shield.

Nodding, Emma pulls back and takes a deep breath. “Whale and Blue were right. I need to control my magic.”

“Emma, you don’t have to—”

“Please,” she begs, like this has been weighing on her for too long. “I want to do this. Now.”

Regina asks, “Are you sure?” because the last time they spoke about magic, it didn’t end very well.

Swallowing, Emma rasps out a, “ _Yes_ ,” and stands before her as a student; slightly afraid, slightly excited. Regina searches Emma’s face and finds all the similarities of her son in the way Emma squares her shoulders, in the way she looks at Regina with intensity. _Try me_ , she says with her scorching gaze.

“Close your eyes,” Regina husks. Her desire for Emma makes her feel lightheaded, leaves her grappling for control over her magic that wants so desperately to join with Emma’s again. As if sensing her need, Emma’s eyes slip closed. “Magic will always take a price, but if you are in touch with it, if you feed it your emotions, then it will ask for less.”

She circles Emma, feels the energy around her aura that brightens as the sun sets. “Potions, spells, things that ask for ingredients will not ask for a price from its maker. It will ask for a price from its user.”

“What did you pay for your curse?” Emma asks.

Leaning forward over Emma’s shoulder, her lips brushing her ear, she whispers, “A hole in my heart. An emptiness that could not be filled.” Emma shivers at her words, her eyes opening to track Regina as she completes her circle to stand in front of her. “Henry was the solution.”

Emma smirks. “Mine too.”

“Eyes. Closed.”

She’s rewarded with a short laugh, but Emma complies. Relaxed, they settle into the same rhythm again. “Find what emotion fuels your magic and use it. Leave nothing untouched. If you’re angry, _feel_ it. If you want to protect something, think about it.” Standing a metre away, Regina clasps her hands in front of her and watches Emma struggle.

“I can’t,” she grits out.

“You can.”

The line between Emma’s eyes deepens, her skin flushing with exertion as she tries to find her magic and the emotions beneath it. It pulses around her, highly strung and trying to go in two different directions. One string reaches for Regina, and the other disappears somewhere behind them. “Stop doing that!”

Regina startles. “I’m not doing anything.”

When Emma opens her eyes, Regina gasps. “I can feel you,” Emma says evenly, daring Regina to deny it. “You’re in two places.”

Slowly, Regina holds out her hands to approach Emma. She says, “Emma, I’m right here.”

The magic stops her, a gentle push that tells Regina just how much control Emma really has. This isn’t some beginner trying to learn the ropes. This is a type of magic that comes from something only Emma can understand, a lightness that doesn’t need control, only direction.

Pointing at the other stream, Emma gestures at it. “Then who is that?”

…

The magic dissipates when Regina follows after it, but Emma grabs her hand and guides her along the road, walking with speed that Regina occasionally has to jog to keep up with. “If someone is fucking with you, I swear—”

“You will not do what you’re thinking.”

That gets Emma to stop. She looks at Regina with doubt, a hint of suspicion in her gaze that has never been there before. “And who are you to judge?” Emma asks.

Another emotion unearthed, another secret, another thing unsaid. “You know who I am,” Regina answers, standing her ground. “You know the things I’ve done. I don’t want you destroying anything as some misguided attempt at protecting me. I can take care of myself.” Wrenching her hand from Emma’s grasp, Regina steps back. “We’re equals, aren’t we?”

Emma presses her hand against her forehead and swipes her hair away from her face. “I can’t lose you to another mob. And there are so many angry people here. How much more must you do to earn their trust? To just—to live like a normal person?”

Fear.

The stench of it lingers in the air, settles over their skin as Emma clamps her mouth shut. That’s what the Saviour’s magic works on. Fear of loss, fear of abandonment, fear of being hurt. Regina’s magic works on anger, the fury of being left behind, of being ignored, of the injustice. And when they come together, one fuels the other, one fights for the other, and there’s no end to how wrong it should be, but there’s beauty in the darkness too.

“So impatient,” she whispers, and steps into Emma’s personal space. “So angry.” Had she known all of this a few months ago, before a poisoned turnover and true love’s kiss, Regina might’ve taken Emma to bed, promised her love she would have never given, and then broken her heart when questions about the town would inevitably unravel everything.

She kisses Emma softly, barely a brush of their lips as she reminisces. “I can feel you,” Emma whispers, her voice sounding strained. When she pulls away as if in pain, Regina tries not to feel the sting of rejection. “No, no,” Emma clarifies, “not this sexy persona you’ve got going on. Your _magic_.”

Regina thinks they might teleport home and finish this, but Emma tugs her along with the same enthusiasm from before, tracking something that Regina is too riled up to sense. Her lungs feel like they’re on fire, and her legs ache by the time Emma stops in front of Gold’s shop.

“It’s here,” she says, and pushes open the door.

Like smoke trapped in a glass house, the magic spills out onto the street, fills Regina’s lungs as she takes a deep breath and feels all her power return. The last time she had felt like this had been in the height of her reign as Queen, where the rules of magic made sense, and the price asked was reasonable in response to the spell.

“Holy fucking shit.”

“What are you—?” There, crawling along the walls and creeping up the counters, are bean vines. Regina’s magic is imbued in the wood, in the little trinkets left behind and the vines themselves that glow an eerie purple. “Magic beans,” she breathes incredulously.

Emma laughs, high pitched and disbelieving. “You broke the fucking vial,” she says too loudly.

Whatever is left of the scab on her thumb itches, but when Regina goes to scratch it, she sees nothing but healed flesh, and a silvery scar as evidence of her accidental heroism. “Everything is going to be okay,” she murmurs.

She expects tight embraces and declarations of love, but Emma only exhales, sagging against the nearest counter with exhaustion. “You did it,” she says with a small smile, “you’re going to be free.”

And if Regina laughs, too loud and too long, relief palpable in the way she reaches for Emma and kisses her, then they don’t comment on how it turns into tears, how the smile remains on her face like she’s caught between grief and joy.


	11. Epilogue

_One year later._

Snow holds out that damned hat with all the names in it. Regina had forgotten all about her punishment, one that doesn’t end with portals and trust. The sinking feeling of dejection takes her by surprise, a lingering seed of doubt that questions whether she was ever really viewed as more than a prisoner.

But Snow shakes the hat and nods toward it with a smile. “Happy endings still need to be found,” she sing-songs, her cheeks rosy with barely contained secrets.

Regina scowls, but tentatively pulls out a name. Unfolding the page, Regina gapes at the six letters that stare back at her, written in scrawling ink. “You can’t be serious.”

She thinks it’s a joke, the way her own name blinks in and out of her vision, coloured with her disbelief that blurs the letters together when she studies it too hard. For months after the magic beans had been distributed, there hadn’t been any happy endings to give, nothing more than monotony as she cooked and cleaned, helped Henry with his homework, and held Emma’s hand as she formed a relationship with her parents.

“I don’t understand,” she says after a while. Because she’s got Henry full time now, and Emma has unofficially moved in. The townsfolk respect her enough, and sometimes she gets lunch with Kathryn when she’s feeling up to it. There is no other happy ending for her.

Snow sighs and takes a seat on David’s empty chair. “I know you too well, Regina,” she says smugly. “You’re bored.”

“I am not _bored_ ,” Regina splutters. Offended and rightfully called out. Twenty-eight years of ruling a town and now she’s reduced to doing menial chores and sharing idle gossip. It gets old fast. Especially in a town where there is no room for a former Evil Queen to grow, to move into another avenue that might make use of her skills.

If only she didn’t close the barrier between worlds so well, maybe things might’ve been a little more interesting. Alas.

A folder is handed to her, labelled _Application for Candidacy_. “I’ll vote for you if you apply. Henry already made posters.”

A laugh bubbles from her chest, because of course he did. Of course, Snow would assume she’d want this, that she’d be happy going back to her office and filing paperwork, and making people sweat just a little before she accepts their requests.

She looks down at the folder in her hands and sighs. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” Snow argues, and walks out of the station with a pep in her step.

That optimistic brat.

:::

Gold’s shop sits in the middle of a large field protected by an enchanted barrier. The magic emanating from it fuels the soil for the rows and rows of beans. Regina feels at peace here, finds herself wandering along the stalks often.

“Madame Mayor!”

Regina openly laughs at the title, already knowing who would be foolish enough to address her as such. She turns around with an amused smirk, and says in greeting, “Sheriff Swan.”

Emma beams, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she jogs toward Regina. “My, my, Madame Mayor. Flirting with the Sheriff on duty?” she asks, mock offended, but kisses Regina anyways. There’s a sticker on her jacket that says _Vote Regina Mills_ , no doubt another of Henry’s photoshop experiments that Emma must’ve paid for.

Emma gently brushes her hand over her jacket when she notices Regina’s gaze. “It doesn’t hurt to advertise,” she argues, but there’s a smile on her face when she takes Regina’s hand. Something so naturally done now that no one bats an eye as they walk hand in hand. Over the past year, they’ve become quite the spectacle.

“I never agreed to apply.” Regina points out.

Their walk slows to a stop. “Just because you gave back all the happy endings doesn’t mean you can’t have a life.” Emma turns to her, sincere in the way she delivers her words. “I know how much being mayor meant to you. Maybe this could be a second chance. Show the people that you’re a really great leader.” She shrugs, like none of this matters as much as it does. “Besides, you’re a hundred times better than the current guy.”

Regina scoffs. “Your mother is mayor.”

Emma says, “Exactly,” and Regina wants to kiss her all over again.

When she grasps Emma’s chin and guides her forward, Regina shakes her head and thinks of all the stupid things Emma has done for her. This, where she gives Regina hope, is the stupidest of them all. “If I lose the election…”

“You’ll try again.” It’s said so easily, with all the belief Emma has to offer.

She says _I’m here_ , _I’ll hold you steady_ , _I believe in you_. And Regina kisses her for it, holds her close until the beans glow with their combined magic; illuminates them as the sun sets and brings the evening, casting away the shadows that loneliness no longer dwells in.

“Okay,” Regina agrees, and welcomes her new beginning with open arms.

:::

_Two years later._

“Do you still feel like an outsider?” Archie asks. It’s been almost two years of therapy, and they’ve only just scratched the surface.

Regina is stiff and guarded, holding too many things close to the vest. No matter how many times she comes here, it always starts like this. Where she thinks about her emotional outbursts and cringes in embarrassment. But she takes deep breaths like Archie taught her and sighs as she sinks further into the couch.

“Sometimes,” Regina admits. “Sometimes I feel like I’m a spectator, like an artist watching something beautiful. I don’t have to be a part of everything to appreciate it.”

Archie writes something down, taps his pen against his notepad twice, and inhales. “Do you…” he mulls the question over, and Regina thinks it might shatter something when he asks it. “Do you feel lonely when you witness these things?”

_These things_. Like Snow and David embracing Emma after months away in the Enchanted Forest, like Henry shyly asking Grace to dance at one of their festivals. She thinks of the moments when everyone threw down their beans, bursts of green and purples lighting up the streets as everyone left and returned. Jefferson with his hat, Whale laughing with his brother, Grumpy and Nova’s wedding.

“Loneliness isn’t this,” she whispers. Because she’s felt it, lived through decades of feeling so alone she felt like tearing off her own skin. A feeling so suffocating that not even fighting for her life had felt like something worth doing.

Fight for Henry, Emma had dared her to do, but Regina feels like maybe, she fought for herself. For her happiness, for the life she always wanted.

“I witnessed families coming together, people returning to their homes and building a life for themselves. Before all this,” she waves her hand through the air, “before giving back happy endings, I would have been envious.” Regina clicks her tongue and shakes her head, holding up her hand to correct herself. “ _My_ happy ending,” she amends. “Before I found my happy ending, I would have been furious.”

“And what is your happy ending?”

Relaxing her posture, Regina presses her lips together to try and hide her smile. But it fights against her, shows itself in the pleasure she feels just thinking about it. “My family,” she answers, saying the words gently. “Being loved. Being trusted. Being…accepted for who I was and supported for who I want to become.”

The notebook is left aside, Archie’s pen set atop it as he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “Why did you come to therapy, Regina?”

He doesn’t sound offended or judgemental. He sounds pleased. Comfortable enough with her progress to ask the question she’s been avoiding since she walked into his office and cried about Gold’s son. _That’s_ a can of worms that she isn’t ready to open again just yet, but this question is one she can answer.

Regina clears her throat and turns toward him. “We all have issues,” she says, speaking with her hands as she tries to formulate her thoughts. “I have past trauma. I have behavioural habits I want to break. There are so many things…” she licks her lips and exhales, sets her hands down on her lap where she brushes lint off her pants. “I want to become a better, healthier person. And I can’t do it all on my own, Archie. Sometimes, Evil Queen’s need help too.”

He cocks his head to the side, satisfied with her answer. The notebook is taken back, another line written down. “Do you still believe you are evil?” he asks, and Regina laughs at how he tugs on a small thread, unravels her until she’s nothing more than an emotional husk.

Crossing her legs, defensive once again, Regina curls her fingers under her chin and contemplates it. She inhales, and says, “I’m a work in progress.” Somehow, that makes her feel a little better. A little happier, too.

:::

Her hands smooth over the desk, familiarising herself with the space. It feels like home, a place of safety and purpose like Emma and Snow had tried to give her a year ago.

Tugging on the lapels of her blazer, Regina stands in front of the small crowd and catches Emma’s gaze among them. She smiles, a small thing shared between lovers who know each other intimately.

“Good morning,” she greets, and tries to ignore the way Emma’s eyes rove over her form, appreciating the navy pantsuit she decided to wear today.

“Good morning, Mentor,” they greet, singsong in their approach.

Regina laughs at them and claps her hands together, walking from one end of the room to the other as she surveys the lot. “Is this fifth grade taught by Mary Margaret?” she asks. “I expect a little more oomph.”

“Good morning, Mentor!” They yell, sharp and brisk. Even Emma stands up straighter, knowing she means business now.

Satisfied, Regina stops at a small table where three items are laid out. A spice, a feather, and a handful of soil. “Can anyone tell me what these items are for?”

Twenty pairs of eyes dart between the items and Regina, hoping the answer will be written on her face. Only one hand slowly inches up, unsure in its approach. Regina sees it before it’s put down. “Ava,” she calls. “Do you know what these items are used for?”

Ava Tillman stands and swallows thickly. Regina might be reformed and respected, but she’s still a terror to this lot who look up to her like a God. “I-I think it’s for a love potion.”

“Why?” Forced to think, Ava straightens as she observes the items once more. “You know this,” Regina encourages.

“A spice for passion,” Ava recites. “A feather for growth and freedom, and soil for stability and home. But a personal affect is missing.”

Pleased, Regina turns on her heel and stalks to the front of the room where the whiteboard is mounted. She writes down Ava’s explanation, and the class jots down the recipe like they haven’t learnt it weeks ago. “Good! Now can anyone tell me the price of this spell?”

“The user becomes aware of all the flaws the object of their affection has. The price is truth and irritation.”

_Truth and irritation_ are written down and underlined. Regina points her marker at Geppetto and gestures for him to come forward. “Now demonstrate.”

…

“Hey,” Emma says, catching up to her as the class dissipates. “I heard you were giving extra lessons?”

Regina bites her lip and tries to maintain her composure. “Do you have a kink for authority, Miss Swan?”

Emma ducks her head and tries to hide her blush, but they’ve been down this road before, and it usually ends with them naked and sweaty. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

Leaning in, Regina smirks against Emma’s lips, denying her a kiss she so desperately tries to take. “Immensely,” she teases, and turns on her heel to stalk back to her desk, leaving Emma standing there, breathless and aroused.

“You’re being unfair!” Emma shouts.

When Regina turns, a twinkle in her eyes, she smiles wide as says, “You’ve always known I play dirty, dear.” It earns her a groan, but Regina doesn’t dwell on it as the next class comes in, another lot of people who have discovered magical abilities and need guidance.

“Good day,” she greets them, waving Emma off. “My name is Regina Mills. But you may address me as your Mentor. I will be teaching you everything you need to know on how to control your magic.”

She searches the faces of her new class, finds no animosity in their gaze as she claps her hands together and allows her magic to light up the room. It’s a show, a performance for the town that Emma has watched a thousand times over. Yet she remains standing at the back of the classroom, captivated by the vibrant lights that dance across the ceiling.

“The first thing we will learn,” she tells them, ignoring the lights her magic makes, “is how intention can shape the outcome of your magic.”

A hand shoots up. Regina nods her head at Fredrick who wears a badge that says _Vote Kathryn Midas!_ No doubt designed by Henry who has officially given up on getting Regina to reapply for the position of Mayor after she lost the last election. She finds that this, teaching magic in a healthy way, is a far better use of her time. Fredrick points up at the ceiling. “When can we learn to do that?!”

A click of her fingers, and the lights go out. “In time,” she promises. “Everything has a time.” Emma winks at her from where she stands, and Regina barely contains her smile as she returns her attention to the class.

“Now, does anyone know what fuels magic?” Her voice boomerangs in an echo of a question, and this time, there are voices that answer back.

The last thing to arrive is contentment. And Regina unlocks it with gratitude, feels her heart swell with love for her new life gifted to her by a curse.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat to me on Twitter [@_sunofthemoon](http://www.twitter.com/_sunofthemoon)
> 
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**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Gifts from a Curse [fanvid]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26222359) by [pearsonasnic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearsonasnic/pseuds/pearsonasnic)




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